Gilbert Beilschmidt, Private Eye
by BonsaiBabe
Summary: Gilbert Beilschmidt is a private eye with a lousy work ethic and a crummy apartment. After accepting the case of a snobby socialite named Roderich, he immediately regrets it, but hey, booze money's gotta come from SOMEWHERE, right?
1. Crummy apartments and lousy work ethics

**[A/N So who's up for a cheesy Noire-esque detective story? Anyone? Anyone? Ummm… Anyone else besides me? :( No? Well, here's one anyways. Because I'm selfish like that. **

**WARNINGS: Lots of swearing, possibility of violence during the course of the fic, and the inevitability of clichéd detective puns, plots, and jokes. I apologize for none of this. :D **

**Reviews if you would, please. It lets me know if I should actually write more chapters or hang up my pen and go back to being a spectator.]**

Gilbert Beilschmidt, private _mother fucking_ eye. That's what it says on the door, baby. Well, minus the 'mother fucking' part. Hey, I run a classy joint here, ok? Well, classy in spirit, if not looks. I sure ain't gonna be getting a visit from _Fancy Shit Monthly_, not while I'm still holed up in this joint, that is. But the place is all I could afford. Sure, the carpet is crummy and the ceiling is cracked and the corner that faces the street gets leaky after a heavy rain, but hey the rent's cheap. And I got this place set up real nice, see. The front room here is pretty big, probably meant to be set up as a living room/dining room if you were the home maker type. Half the room, the half closer to the door is set up as a living room. Big, ragged green couch, end table, tv, floor lamp, you've been in a living room before, I ain't gotta spell it out for ya. The second half, yeah, the half with the leaky corner, is my office. Two big filing cabinets against the far wall (looking mighty _fuckin_ official, might I add), two chairs for clients to sit in, and of course, my desk.

Currently, I'm setting at my desk, chair leaned back and feet propped up. My hat's tipped up to cover my face and my hands are folded behind my head. Things are a little slow today and I decided I could spare the time for a nap. Well, to tell you the truth, things weren't slow today, they were slow _every day. _So maybe I'm a little new to this whole private eye thing and maybe I haven't had more than two clients the whole six months I've been running this gig. So sue me. Everybody's gotta start somewhere. Hell, I heard Stanly Kubrick started off as a lowly bellhop in New York. It inspired his work on _The Shining_, ya know. What's my point here? Sometimes great men just need a little time being _un-_great so that when they finally stumble onto greatness it will be extra awesome. Or something like that.

So here I am trying to nap and the thing is I can't fall asleep. All these pesky thoughts keep floating into my head like _how are you gonna pay the rent this month_ and _it's going to be a long-assed winter if I don't have the money to turn the heat on_ and most frighteningly _aw man, what if I have to choose between booze and electricity again this month? _Point is, I need clients. I've always done alright for myself up until three months ago. I've always been pretty keen with my money and had a nose for investments. Of both the legal and perhaps not so legal variety. But then my little brother got himself into a spot of trouble. His name is Ludwig (yeah, not sure what the hell my mother was thinking either. She was probably still stoned off of her epidural when she was filling out the certificate) and he's a police man. Three months ago he got into a car accident with some idiotic fucking drunk driver and got banged up pretty bad. Of course the dumb fucking drunk didn't have any insurance. Why would he? Deadbeat… And on a policeman's salary and benefits it just wasn't enough to cover Ludy's operations. So of course I stepped up to the plate. He's my little brother, for Pete's sake. I'd die for him. I ended up cashing out all of my assets and paying to have Luddy's organs put back in his gut. I ain't complaining about having to help him out, it's just, well, it would be nice to have a full fridge again.

But fuck it. What are you going to do? The way I see it, things will come around eventually. They always do. Now for that nap…..

My eyes were just drifting shut while my body felt deliciously heavy and drowsy when I heard my door creaked open. FUCK! I started violently and flung the hat from my face. I'd let my guard down and now some prick was waltzing into my apartment. Not wasting a second I swung my legs off the desk, vaguely aware of my blotter and today's paper being dragged haphazardly as well. Falling out of my chair I grasped for the middle drawer on the left side of my desk. As I clumsily clawed the drawer open I glanced up to see how many guys there were. But then I stopped my frantic hands and fell the rest of the way out of my chair as I realized who my guest was. Or rather, who he _wasn't. _Because if this pansy ass looking joker was a hit man then I'm the Queen of England.

He just stood there, watching me spaz with a haughty look of amusement on his face. I wanted to knock the smirk right off his mug. And it was a hell of a mug at that. Soft and refined features, glasses on his face that just screamed vogue. Perhaps most maddening was the mole by his mouth. The kind of beauty mark you'd see on a French whore or a classy motherfucker. And boy, you could see this motherfucker thought he was classy. And I think that's what annoyed me the most.

"Hey buddy," I grunted as I shut the partially opened drawer with a bang and picked myself up off of the floor. "Take a wrong turn or something? Cause this sure as hell ain't—"

"Are you Mister Beilschmidt?" he cut me off impatiently.

"Depends on who's asking," I said defensively.

"Please, Mister Bielschmidt, I don't have the time or patience to play coy," the man said, a note of annoyance clear in his cultured voice. "If you're quite through seizing on the floor I'd like you proposition your services as a private eye." I took a step towards him. "Sure thing, Mister-?"

"Edelstein," he said, offering his hand. "Roderich Edelstein." I shook it. His skin was soft and dry, fitting in perfectly with the rest of the aristocratic front he exuded. "Well, Mister Edelstein," I said. Gesturing towards the chairs in front of my desk I said, "Please, have a seat."


	2. Propositions and pianos

**[A/N So I know that this chapter is out mega fast, but I was just eager to anchor the story a little more so that people have a chance to actually get interested. Point is, don't expect an update every day in the future. It just ain't humanly possible. How's at least once a week sound? That's what I'm going to shoot for, anyways. **

**Warnings: Language, violence, bad jokes, and…. Implied pairings. Just a warning because I know some weird people don't like fan pairings. Ha. Well, it's going to be implied in this story. Forearmed is forewarned! Or something like that. **

**Oh, and I've decided that my 'thing' is going to be to say something false about a famous person in every chapter. Last chapter was the Stanly Kubrick working as a bellhop thing. I'm going to keep it up in the future. Even though it's rather lame, and most of you probably won't know the people I mention, it amuses me and that's all that counts (for me that is!) xD ]**

Even the way he sat annoyed me. It was prissy and decidedly unmanly. It was the kind of sit they teach you finishing schools or that you learn in well-lit parlors where your every action was scrutinized and scored for style points. Your back had to be completely straight, so straight that it curved the opposite way of a slouch. The shoulders must be squared and your neck elongated.

Edelstein assumed this position like it was natural. No fidgeting around or positioning himself. One moment he was standing there, letting go of my hand while mocking me with his self assured gaze, the next, he was sitting for a portrait.

Barely controlling the scowl threatening to light up my face, I focused my attention on picking up my blotter from the floor. God, I could just kick myself for overreacting in front of a smug asshole like him. Edelstein strikes me as the kind of person to never forget that sort of decidedly _un_-awesome move. I'll just have to kick on the suave, make him forget about this little incident. Uh, not that I give a _fuck_ what this prick thinks of me, mind you. It's just I can't have him telling tales outside of school, see. Spreading it around town that I'm all wet, that'd be just like him.

"Expecting someone else," Edelstein inquired innocently. _Sickeningly sweetly _innocently. "Someone dangerous?" I stopped rearranging the items I'd just placed back on my desk and glared at him.

_No, asshole, that's how I always answer my door. By knocking my shit all over the place and groping for my revolver. The Girl scouts don't seem to appreciate it much, though. _I was seriously ready to unleash the fury on this dude when I realized what he was doing. Damn, am I stupid. Edelstein was pushing my buttons. And I can't figure out what is worse-the fact that he knew just what to say to get me going so easily or the fact that I reacted like I did. I'd have to watch this fellow.

"Frankly, Mister Edelstein, it's been my experience that people who enter establishments without knocking are hardly ever up to any good," I said coolly, while up righting a pencil jar on my desk. At that, my potential client gave a rather ungentlemanly snort. "Yes, well, if I were in a contemptuous mood I suppose that I could counter that it's been _my _experience that businesses ran out of one's private residence are hardly any good."

Do you hear this? Do you even hear this right now? This guy comes barging in here, interrupting my nap, scaring the shit out of me thinking that Vargas has finally caught up with me, then he has the balls to insult my business. Oh, yeah, this guy is either ballsie or stupid because I'm pretty sure that men with greater self control than I've been blessed with would already be reaching across this desk and choking him with that _asinine _cravat around his neck. But fortunately for Edelstein, I'd only just righted all the stuff I knocked over and it seemed like a waste to ruin my efforts. And, well, plus I need the money.

"Oh, come now, Mister Beilschmidt. It was just a joke, albeit one in poor taste. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insinuate—well, I'm sure you're a fine detective. Which leads me to why I am here." Yeah. I'm sorry my ass. _Money, Gilbert, think of the money._ _I can't really afford to mess this up._

"So what can I do for you?" I pulled a notebook out of the center drawer of my desk, real professional like. The notebook seemed to amuse Edelstein; I could see it in his eyes as they flicked from the notebook back to me with an amused glint. Even his eyes were annoyingly posh. They were large, violet, and effeminately framed by long, dark lashes. No wonder he tried to hide them with glasses. His eyes met mine and I looked down at my note pad quickly. I'm a little embarrassed he caught me looking. Not because I noticed so much about his eyes, I just didn't want him to think I'm queering up on him. Humph.

And for the record it's not like his eyes are gorgeous or anything. They're too big and expressive and…. dumb! So there.

After a moment, Edelstein talked. "I'd like to commission you to find my piano. Five days ago it was stolen from my home. The—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I interrupted, "a piano? I don't think—"

"Don't _interrupt me,_" Edelstein spat back. To say that the man was irked was an understatement. "This isn't just any piano, Mister Bielschmidt, it is an antique _Bösendorfer._ The piano is worth over half a million dollars." I swore lightly under my breath. Half a mill? For a _PIANO? _ What, is the damn thing made out of solid gold and crown fucking jewels?

"Have you contacted the police?"

"Of course I have! Naturally, they're the first people I called. Fat lot of luck it did for me, though. All those morons did was track mud over my carpets and scratch their heads. I put as much hope in the police to find my piano as I put in Beethoven rising from the grave." I opened my mouth to say something—he was basically insulting my little brother here!—before I remembered the time Luddy set the stove on fire making turkey bacon. I shut my mouth and opted to write on my note pad instead.

"I've decided to hire a private detective to see if I can't speed the process along. That's where you come in. I'm prepared to offer you five thousand dollars contingent on the return of my piano." F-f-f-fi-five _thousand? Damn! _My troubles could be over if I can pull this off! Ignoring what was surely a look of part flabbergast and part greed on my face he continued, "although I don't hold much hope for its return, sadly. In the event the piano cannot be recovered I'm still prepared to offer you seven hundred dollars for two weeks of your time." Ok, so not as good as five thousand, but probably more realistic and still pretty damn good. "Plus expenses," he added as an afterthought. I mentally jumped for joy. "_Documented_ expenses," he added pointedly. Bastard. Basically accusing me of ripping him off, here!

"I'll give you three hundred dollars now. In two weeks I'll give you the four hundred and decided if I wish to continue to engage your services. Unless, of course, you find my piano before then. Can you start tomorrow?"

"Sure, I can start tomorrow. I'd like to come out to your place and examine the scene of the crime, interview any potential witnesses, and the like." Look at me, sounding all professional and like I know what I'm doing. Which is not to say that I _don't _actually know what I'm doing, because I totally do!

"That's fine," he said dismissively. Edelstein pulled a card out of his purple coat and offered it to me. "My address," he said, rising from the chair. "I shall be expecting you tomorrow. Good day, Mister Bielschmidt." He took a step then paused thoughtfully. Turning back towards my desk, he fished an envelope out of his pocket and dropped it on my desk. "Your fee. I trust taking it tax free won't be a problem?" Not waiting for an answer he turned and walked out the door.

I looked at the card in my hand. In gold swirly letters it read, '_Roderich Edelstein, concert pianist.'_ Under that was two phone numbers written in swirly numbers. One for his agent, and one for his personal contact. Below that, there was an address handwritten in purple ink. The script was elegant and flourished. Rolling my eyes I caught a whiff of edelweiss perfume. _Oh my God, are you for serious right now?_ I flicked the card onto my desk and picked up the packet of money, which thankfully didn't also smell like fucking perfume.

Allowing my thumb to card over the twenties, I let a big grin spread across my face. Hell, with just the three hundred bucks alone I could start my… investing again. Bet I could make this puppy grow twice the amount in a week. Ya just gotta know the right people. Hell, you know what they say; Warren Buffett started his investment career with fifty bucks, a bag of weed, and a gimpy leg. Look at him now. And look at me, I've got _three hundred _bucks, (granted, no weed) and a leg that's perfectly fine. I'm six up on him already.

Fuckin' A. Gilbert Beilschmidt was back on the fucking map!

XxXxX

After allowing myself to sufficiently gloat, I picked up the phone and dialed my buddy. Francis was the type of guy who knew a little bit about everybody and could get you a whole lot about anyone. On the third ring he picked up. "Allô?"

"Hey, Francis, it's Gilbert."

"_Gilbert?_" he said in a thick French accent. He gave a huff into the phone and said, "I was hoping it would be zat cute _fille_ I met at ze club last night."

"Sorry to break your heart," I said wryly, "but if she's got any common sense she's fled the county by now. Now, come meet me at a bar tonight you French bastard. I've got some business I could use your help with."

"Business, you say," he said musingly. "Ok, sure. But only if you buy me a drink."

"Like hell I will, you leach. Believe it or not, the whole world isn't aching to trip all over themselves to delight in your company."

"_Well, zen. _Don't take it out on me because you don't get laid enough, _mon ami."_ I snorted. Francis and I always talked this way to each other. It kept us amused, I suppose.

"How's seven o'clock sound. Down at _McGinty's?"_

"_Parfait, _Gil. I'll see you there." I hung up the phone because goodbyes are for pussies.

XxXxX

Next, I picked up the phone and called my brother.

"Oi, West, still kicking?" I usually called him West. Partly because it drove him nuts and partly out of habit. For as long as I can remember my brother's dream was to go to West Point. I got so damned used hearing about it that I just started calling him West.

"Yes, Gilbert, I am. Can you excuse me for a moment?" I heard him say something muffled away from the phone. Turning back to the phone, I could catch him say _…in a moment Feli._

"You busy, West?"

"Feliciano just finished dinner. He was telling me about it is all."

"Ok, I'll be quick then. I'd really appreciate it if you could nick me the files from a robbery about a week ago. The name of the guy who filed it is Edelstein, first name Roderich." I could hear West scribbling the info down.

"I'll see what I can do. I'm sure it won't be a problem getting the files. Nobody really cares too much about robberies."

"Thanks, West. Any word about the lesser half of the Vargas brothers?" I could hear my brother sigh.

"_Nichts neues. Er will immer noch mich töten."_ He spoke low and rapidly into the phone. Probably wanted to be absolutely sure Feliciano wouldn't be able to understand him. The whole situation made Feliciano sad and worried. Hell, it's understandable. I'd be upset too if my batshit crazy brother hated my boyfriend (not that I would HAVE a boyfriend, mind you, I'm just speaking HYPOTHETICALLY, here. Got it? Ok. As long as we're on the same page now.). Normally, this wouldn't be that big of a problem except for the fact that the brother in question is Romano 'Lovino' Vargas. Yeah, THAT Romano 'Lovino' Vargas. The one that runs the Vargas family mafia.

Now, you may be wondering how it is that my brother, who as you may remember is a police officer, came to be romantically involved with the younger brother of the head of this city's Italian mafia. Well, keep wondering because damned if I know. All I know is they met when Feliciano was brought in for indecent exposure when he left his home wearing a tank top. ONLY a tank top. He says he forgot about not wearing pants. And the scary part is _I believe him. _Yeah, he's _that_ brand of stupid.

Well, things happened rapidly after that. They fell in love, West told me, I freaked out, I got over it (the later of the three happened the very same day. What can I say? I'm a forgiving fellow). Then they ran into trouble. Because Romano Vargas is _not_ a forgiving fellow. I'm not sure what bothered Romano more—the fact that his brother was gay or that he was in love with a police officer. Long story short, there was one hell of a falling out between the brothers and Feliciano ended up moving in with West. Romano threatened to have West bumped off and _somehow_ I got dragged onto the hit list as well. 'Somehow' in this case meaning 'I punched Romano in the face and broke his nose when I saw him at the Italian market buying olives.'

Actually, that brings us back to why I freaked the fuck out when that asshole Edelstein barged into my house unexpectedly. Because I am legitimately worried that one of these days I'm going to look over my shoulder and that angry little fuck Romano is going to be there. With a gun. A _big_ gun. With a silencer.

It could happen, you know.

Translations:

"_Nichts neues. Er will immer noch mich töten."= Nothing new. He still wants to kill me._

**[A/N So there it is. What do you think? Reviews are appreciated and motivate me to write. Otherwise I'm gonna think you guys hate me and I'll spend all day crying instead of writing.]**


	3. A chapter which involves much alcohol

**[A/N Yay! New chapter! It's a long one, though.]**

_A damned piano, _I marveled as I walked down the street. I could feel the envelope of money in my pocket. I felt like a… what is it the kids say now a days? Like a G6? The hell does that even mean? It don't matter. That's what I felt like. I'd say like a million bucks but, heh, I wasn't quite there yet. Let me knock back a couple then we'll talk.

Oh, this night had potential.

Pushing open the door of _McGinty's, _the smell of spilt beer and stale cigarettes just about knocked me over. This, boys and girls, is what a real fucking booze joint smells like. And don't think _McGinty's _had something as prissy as décor. Or proper lighting for that matter. Nope, this place is about as down and dirty as they get. Keeps out pussies like Edelstein and your mom, you see.

Looking around, I struggled to find Francis because of the poor lighting. Luckily, there aren't too many people in the bar this time of evening. I finally spotted him—or rather the back of his shaggy ass head—leaning against the bar. Francis was talking to some shady looking hippy so I hung back. I don't know what kind of business they had and believe me I didn't _want _to know.

_This guy's pretty grody looking so I'm pretty sure Francis isn't trying to sweet talk him into bed or anything, _I mused as I waited. Finally, the guy looked around shiftily and then handed Francis an envelope. Francis murmured something I couldn't quite make out and clapped the man on the shoulder. The man promptly sulked away, probably to go back hiding under whatever rock he slithered from under.

Francis was tucking the envelope into his jacket when he finally saw me. "_Mon cher!" _He flung his arms open like I was about to jump into them.

"No." I said.

"No?" he asked with some confusion. I gestured towards him. All of him. Francis let his arms drop with a pout.

"And I'm not going to tell you again to lay off of the French nicknames."

"Gilbert, you have no feel for the art of love. It's probably why you cannot get laid, non?" Francis looked smugly pleased with himself. "Always so eager to talk about my dick, Francis," I replied with some venom.

"Perhaps ah just thought it would be a nice change of pace if someone mentioned your dick without laughing."

"You unholy fucker of mothers. You better have some drinks waiting for me else I'll have to kick your ass while we wait." Francis laughed. "But of course," he said, sliding a glass of beer towards me as I sat down beside him. I eyed it suspiciously. "If you tell me that you ordered us light beer I fear for your life."

Francis gave an _hmph. _"You're getting fat anyways, Gilbert. You should be thanking me, really. Not only do ah care for your physique, ah bought you a beer. What a friend!" Grumbling, I took a sip of the light brew. "Meh, not bad. Not as bad as Bud Lite anyways." Francis shook his head like _I told you so._

"So what is zis business you had to discuss with me?" I took another gulp of beer before setting the glass down on the bar. Pulling out the envelope, I snagged fifty bucks to pay for beer and a little food before handing the envelope to Francis. "Came into a little money. I trust you can make it grow for me?" raising an eyebrow, Francis quickly counted the money. When he looked up again I didn't quite care for his expression. I couldn't exactly place what was wrong but Francis' eyes seemed too intense and his mouth was tight. "But of course, _mon ami_. Ah, if you don't mind my asking, where did you get zis money? Just ze other day weren't you on the phone crying to me zat you didn't have any money?"

"Got a case finally. The client paid three hundred up front and promises four hundred in two weeks. Pretty slick, eh? That's the second thing I wanted to talk to you about. Know anything about a man named Roderich Edelstein?" At the sound of Edelstein's name Francis' face lost the weird expression and instead beamed.

"_Vraiment? _Do not be pulling jokes on your friend Francis now!" I haven't seen him this exited since they put a _Sephora's _in _J.C Pennys_.

"Uh, yeah. I take it you know the guy then? Mind telling me what's so fucking fantastic about him?"

"_Gilbert, _he is only one of the greatest musical geniuses of our_génération!_ Not to mention one of ze most eligible bachelors in ze city! He's been playing piano since he was four years old. He debuted his first original piece at ze age of nine! He later attended ze Juilliard School, excelling at composition and performance. He really came into fame last year, though, after debuting his _Romantic Concerto for Piano, No.1._ Ah've heard him perform it." At this, Francis clasped his hands to his chest in an over dramatic fashion. "It was beautiful. Edelstein is quite good looking himself, too. Ah've asked him out several times and can you believe that not once did he say yes?"

"Yes. Yes I can," I said flatly. Goodness gracious. I wouldn't have fucking asked if I had known Francis was going to go all fangirl on me. Damn!

"Ah, Gilbert," Francis said with a laugh. "Fuck you."

"Can we be serious here, Francis? Your love crush hired me to find his missing piano. Said this thing's an antique worth half a mil. Can you believe that? All for a piano! But anyways, think you can dig a little for me? Talk to that Dutch fellow, why don't you? He told me once that he could sell anything. Even if it was hot. [**A/N** I find it prudent to point out that 'hot' means stolen…] The way he talked he could sell a baby in two days, no questions asked. See what kind of market there is for antique pianos.

And for the record, Edelstein seems like a prick. The hell you see in him?" Francis just chuckled and shook his head. By this time our glasses were empty and I waved over the bartender, who happened to be McGinty's daughter. While she filled our glasses Francis cooed and flirted with her shamelessly. He's such a horn dog. "Hey, cool it," I murmured while elbowing him. "Did you happen to forget what happened last time we were here?"

"Gilbert, how is it mah fault old man McGinty thought ah was grabbing his daughter's breast while ah was only plucking a loose thread from her shirt?"

"It's your fault because I don't think I've ever seen someone pick a thread with their whole palm," I said irritably. "You know, it could have also been the fact that you had a hand full of her ass while you were doing it that had McGinty pissed."

"Zat was only for leverage, Gilbert. Ah was just trying to keep her still while ah straightened her up!"

"Oh, you straightened her up alright. Just make sure it doesn't happen again. I don't want to add a pissed off Irishman to the list of people who want to bump me off."

"Gilbert, you worry too much. Shut up and drink."

Well. He didn't have to tell me twice.

XxXxX

Ok. So I'd had a few. And I was starting to feel it. Or maybe I had started to feel it about three beers ago. Point is I felt tas fuckin fantic, um, I mean, fan fucking tastic.

I was having one hell of a time listening to Francis' crazy ass stories. Man, did that frenchie get up to some weird shit. He looked at his watch, took a swig of his beer then said, "and ze best part is, ze hooker wasn't really dead, so none of us went to jail!"

"Bahahahaha….. That's the most fucked up shit I have ever heard. How do you get into these situations in the first place?" Francis just shook his head and shrugged. He rolled up his sleeve and checked his watch.

"So, how ah zings with Ludwig and Feli?" Francis asked casually. I shrugged while lighting a cigarette. I took a drag and exhaled. Aaahhh… nothing goes with drinking like smoking, trust me. Would I lie to you? Nope. It's fucking amazing.

"Well, they've been living together for awhile now and I don't think the police have ever been called out for a domestic disturbance so in my book that's a win. We're all still on edge with Feliciano's crazy fuck brother but other than that I dunno. West seems happy at least. Hell, probably happier than I've ever seen him." Another swig of beer, another drag of smoke. "Isn't that just a completely cliché and sickeningly sentimental thing of me to say?" Francis looked at his watch. Ok, this was really starting to piss me off. "Excuse me, _Francis, _but am I boring you or something?"

Francis looked at me, eyebrows knit together and eyes remorseful. Finally, he said, "Gilbert, ah'm sorry but ah've been very naughty."

Oh. Shit. My hand froze halfway to my mouth, which was slightly open to receive the cigarette. I cocked my head and looked at him intently.

I have known Francis since we were children. In the years I have know him he has only said the words "Gilbert, ah'm sorry but ah've been very naughty" three times. Exactly three counting this time. EXACTLY THREE. Do you know why I know for sure it's been three? Because _every time he says those words to me something terrible happens. _

I could feel the hair on the back of my fucking neck stand up, but I couldn't move. Not even to move that damned cigarette out of limbo. Francis looked at me anxiously, remorsefully. Finally, I was able to move my jaw, to say something. "How bad is it."

Francis began talking rapidly, trying to justify himself. "Ah'm sorry. Really, ah am. Don't be mad, _mon cher, _ah was just trying to help you out….. in a way. You said you needed money in a bad way and zen zis offer came to me along ze grape vine."

"_Francis how bad is it tell me right this instant_." But he didn't have to tell me. I felt it. A heavy hand on my shoulder, gripping real tight in a real unfriendly way. Francis leaned over and plucked the cigarette from my fingers. "Don't worry, _mon cher,_ he won't hurt you. It was part of our agreement. Ah was very clear on zat." The rough hand on my shoulder dragged me out of my chair. Another set of rough hands grabbed my other arm.

I looked over my shoulder one last time as the two men drug me towards the door. Francis' eyes looked into mine sadly as he took a drag of my cigarette. His eyes lazily shut and his head rolled back. In a moment of panicked clarity I could see the blond stubble on Francis' adam's apple as he let the smoke out in a stream above his head.

XxXxX

**[A/N I had half a mind to cut the story here and leave you in suspense for another week but I think I'll be nice and continue on. just know that I COULD HAVE (Scores major evil points)]**

XxXxX

_I should struggle, shout, do anything! _I thought as the men escorted me to the entrance of the bar. But I could feel something pressed roughly against my side. And I'm pretty sure it wasn't that this guy was just happy to see me.

Ok. So I wait, bide my time. Keep a cool head Gilbert, KEEP A COOL HEAD DAMMIT! I could feel it in my guts, at the base of my skull. That feeling of icy roiling wanting to take over. I couldn't allow that to happen. I needed to be in control. Fear will get me killed. Blind actions will get me killed. I took a deep breath and pushed the icy fear away. It didn't leave me completely but it abated enough for me to think. Oh, God, let it be enough.

I tried to slow down my steps but the men just tightened their grips and kept pace. The one gripping my left arm reached forward to open the door. I could see a car parked illegally on the other side of the street. _I can't get into that car. If I do it's curtains. I gotta make my break before they get me into that car._

I heard the door of the bar thump closed. Against my will my breathing quickened. My muscles tensed. These guys aren't likely to slip up. They do shit like this every other night. To them I'm just another corpse. But damn it, I wasn't going to be led to slaughter so easily. It was now or never. NOW OR—

XxXxX

What woke me up was the pain. Ugh. I couldn't see. I couldn't move. I heard a low pitched whine. _I think that came from me, _I thought groggily. Experimentally, I tried to replicate the sound. Yes, that's me. At least I could form coherent thoughts now. They must not have killed me. _Oh my God they tried to kill me and did it half assed. They probably stuffed my body into a refrigerator in a fucking garbage dump. What if I'm in one of those _Sterilite _plastic storage bins sinking into some back water swamp lands? _

Well shit.

At this point I was totally awake. The pain was worse. The muscles on my face felt like they were trying to contract as much as they could in an effort to pull totally free of my face and skip town. That's when it occurred to me—my eyes are closed. Oh. Well, it would certainly help if I could open them.

Easier said than done, unfortunately. First I had to relax the muscles on my face. When that was reasonably accomplished I could feel the sweat running down my face from the effort. Next I worked on prying my eye lids open. Eventually I was able to open one of them just a tiny bit. Urgh. A wall of white light assaulted me, hell bent into stabbing through my eyes and back into my skull.

Bit by bit, I eventually was able to open my eyes. And to my relief (surprise) I was not, in fact, stuffed into some makeshift coffin dumped in some mob protected backland. Instead, I was lying on the floor of some room. _Oh, yes, Gilbert. Real fucking specific. _Well, give me a minute, damn it. I'm a battered man here!

Ok, so it was a nice room. What I mean to say is that I'm not in an abandoned warehouse or anything. Hmm… I kinda feel disappointed about that. Hear me out, now—when you get kidnapped by some unknown, presumably mob affiliated goons you expect to be taken somewhere rather seedy. But on second thought, this is probably in my favour. You'd have to be crazy to spill blood on a nice carpet like this. It's beige, for Pete's sake. I'm telling you there's no way you'd get a stain out of this baby.

"Hey, you're awake now!"

Ok, so maybe I'd been so wrapped up in relief and surprise at not being belly up that I hadn't taken proper stock in my surroundings. The mysterious man walked over, the sound of his footsteps heavily cushioned by the thick carpet. He crouched down and I rolled my head enough to see him. He was smiling at me. It was a nice, friendly smile. Not a sarcastic smile, a leer, a smirk, a sneer, or a Cheshire grin. An honest to goodness 'hey, how ya doin, buddy?' smile. Surely this guy isn't a gangster, right? Yeah, I thought that too until I noticed the fucking glock in his left hand.

"Hey, since you're awake I'm going to sit you up now, ok?" Without waiting for a reply he grasped my shoulders and gently eased me up. Oooohhhhhhhhhh. If these gangsters don't kill me my fucking head will. I was too overcome by the dizziness to support my muscles. This guy didn't fucking care. He just gleefully picked me up like I didn't weigh nothing and slung me into a chair. He untied my hands but I didn't notice until he was already retying them to the arms of the chair. Darn. I could have made my dramatic break. I looked up at the guy and there was three of him spinning lazily around. Urg. Maybe I'm not ready for a dramatic break.

Now, here's the thing. I could deal with a blow to the head, I'm quite sure of it. A little pain, no biggie. And I could also deal with the shitty feeling of coming down from being drunk. Hell, I do it all the time. But put the two together? Fuck. My. Life. Honestly, I don't know which feeling was worse—the throbbing pain at the base of my skull or the bleary confusion and nausea mosh pitting in the front of my brain.

"Don't tell me you're going to throw up. Please don't. How about I get you some water? Wait right here," he said this as if I had a choice.

Sure enough, the man returned with a bottle of water and held it to my lips so I could drink it. The water was gloriously cool and refreshing. The gangster continued to give me little sips until the whole bottle was gone. "More," I croaked out. "No, I think that is enough. Any more and you will definitely throw up," he said wisely. By now my head had adjusted to sitting up and my vision wasn't terribly blurry any more. The guy was leaning back on a desk, still sporting that damned smile. He had shaggy brown hair and intense green eyes. He looked like he belonged on a cute little villa farm somewhere or at an animal clinic bandaging sore paws on puppies.

"Where am I?" I asked.

"I'm Antonio," the man blurted.

"And that's not what I fucking asked, _Antonio," _I spit back.

"My boss wants to speak with you. I really can't tell you anything else. All he said I could tell you was 'my boss wants to talk to you' and 'my name is Antonio.'"

I sighed with annoyance. Well, to answer my own question, I was probably at one of Vargas' joints. Meaning for all I know, that crazy fuck will cap my ass in his office, beige carpets or no. I pulled at my restraints but I didn't move. Not even an inch. Ok. So there was officially nothing I could do except wait for Vargas and beg for my fucking pathetic excuse of a life. So I broke the guy's nose. That's no reason to go on a shooting spree! C'mon now.

I eyed up Vargas' man he left with me. Even to my give-a-shit-about-fashion man eyes I could tell that Antonio's pants were stylish. They were crème and _really fitted._ He was wearing a tight, red button up shirt with the top two buttons popped. This fellow was either gay or European.

"Hey, Antonio, do you know that song _Karma Chameleon_?" His face brightened. "Yes, I absolutely love that song. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," I said causally. Yep. That answered that question.

XxXxX

It seemed like we were waiting forever. "Where's Vargas at, man? Why is he making me wait so long?" Antonio, looking panicked, replied "Ah, Vargas? Who's that?" He gave a nervous laugh.

"Quit dicking with me. I know Romano Vargas is the one who snatched me up."

"I'm sorry if you think this, Romano Vargas was it, fellow called you in but I can neither confirm or deny your paranoid speculations," Antonio said nervously. "Although, in my opinion they are ridiculous," he added forcedly.

"Um, Antonio, I hate to break it to you, but right behind your head there's a picture of Romano and Feliciano hanging on the wall."

"How do you know that it's not just some guy who looks like him?" He was starting to get concerned now. The hell is up with this guy?

"Because in the picture there's a banner over their heads that says 'Vargas family reunion.'" Antonio visibly wilted. "Hey, Gil, I wasn't suppose to tell you who my boss is. Don't tell him it was me who told you because I totally didn't." he looked at me anxiously. Looking back levely I said, "I'm going to tell him it was you who told me."

"No, don't!"

"I will. I'm going to say that was the first thing that came out of your mouth." I knew I really should fuck with this poor idiot but frankly I was annoyed at this whole situation and, well, he was too easy to pick on. Now sporting a look of full fledged panic, Antonio opened his mouth to say something. At that moment the door creaked open and Antonio was looking behind me at whoever had just walked in.

"Based on the look on your face, you idiot, I take it that he knows everything?" someone, presumably Vargas, said.

"N-no, Roma—uh, boss man. I didn't tell him anything. But he did see your picture. The nice one behind your desk?" Antonio looked bashful and a little frightened, as if he was waiting for Vargas' wrath.

Vargas sighed heavily. He walked past me and I was struck by how similar he looked to Feliciano. "Get your ass off my desk," he muttered angrily as he walked by. Antonio shrunk away like a kicked puppy and slunk over to lean against the wall.

Vargas sat down heavily in his big leather chair and leaned forward, elbows on the table. He rubbed his temples with his eyes shut, as if he had forgotten about me. He gave another heavy sigh and looked straight up at me.

"It's three o'clock in the fucking morning. I don't have time to tip toe through the tulips with you, asshole. You know me, I know you. You know our history. Now, I want to make you an offer you absolutely cannot refuse." I decided to say nothing. It's probably safer that way.

"_My brother,_" Vargas continued, "is an insufferable idiot. Even my fucking body guard over there," at this he jerked a thumb towards Antonio, "can reason circles around that dumb fuck. But none the less, he's my brother. What happened between us, well, this isn't the way _Papa Roma_ would have wanted it. If he were still around he'd probably say something like, 'Lovi, if your brother wants to take it up the ass from some thick headed county mountie that's his business. And _your _business is the family business. As long as that state boy doesn't interfere with our goings on it'll be ok.'"

"Hell, maybe we can even get him on our payroll." I wasn't sure if that last sentence was still _Papa Roma_ talking or just Vargas' own monologue. Did it matter? Maybe, maybe not.

"And that's where_ you _come in, Gilbert," he looked at me expectantly. The fuck?

"Um, okay," I said incredulously. "I don't think I quite follow."

"I'm hiring you to get my brother to forgive me," he said impatiently, like his vague mutterings meant anything to anyone except this crazy asshole. "But," he continued, "what I want you to do is convince Feliciano to come to me and apologize. It's gotta be him begging me for forgiveness. I-I just can't bring myself to," he looked down at his desk. Wow, did this man have a twisted sense of how the world works.

"It's in your best interest to cooperate with me, Gilbert. Not only will it end the feud between our families," wow, did this guy take disagreements seriously! "it will also bring happiness to our brothers. And if that isn't enough for a greedy bastard like you, there's also two thousand bucks in it for you." Damn, that's all you had to say, broski! I had to stop myself from letting out a whoop! "Plus, the promise of job opportunities in the future and the perks of being part of _the family._" Uh, the family? Right.

But could I really take this gangster's dirty mob money? I mean, Vargas here is in the business of hurting people. Wouldn't Feliciano and Ludwig be better off cutting all ties with the Vargas Mafia? Could I really stoop so low as to manipulate my brother's lover into begging Vargas for forgiveness?

You better fucking bet I could!

Say whatever you want, but I know where my best interests lie. My policy is _don't be a hero. _ In real fucking life heroes end up decapitated by the fucking Italian mob.

"Mr. Vargas," I said, "as long as you keep your word, we've got ourselves a deal." Vargas nodded and motioned Antonio towards me. The bodyguard came and cut me loose from the chair with a pocket knife.

"Don't worry about it, Gilbert. You're one job away from turning your whole fucking pathetic existence around. Stick with me and you won't be running a second rate private eye business out of some shitty assed apartment. I have a car waiting to take you back now." I stood up and rubbed my wrists. Varagas looked up suddenly and snapped his fingers. "Oh, I almost forgot. Antonio, remember what we talked about earlier?" Antonio nodded to Vargas before punching me in the gut.

Oooof. All the air rushed out of my lungs and I doubled up in pain. Ah, what the hell? Damn, that guy could punch! "What… the hell….. was that for?" I gasped.

"For breaking my nose at the market, you prick. How could you think I would forget about that? You're just lucky I didn't mess up your face. But seeing as how we are about to be part of the same family I decided to spare your pretty little face." Oh, gee, I guess that makes me eternally grateful?

As soon as I was able to stand (mostly) up and breathe (semi) normally Antonio opened the door and prepared to escort me to my car.

"And Gilbert, if you find some way to fuck this _simple_ assignment up I will disembowel you."

"Don't worry, _Lovi, _you can trust me. Hell, we're practically family already, right?" Faster than I thought that little man could move he was up and around the desk. He gave me a good punch to the gut. Not as bad as what Antonio doled out, but it hurt just as much coming so soon after the first blow.

"Don't you _ever _call me that _ever_ again. Do you have that in your shit brain?" He didn't even wait for an answer. Instead, he stalked out of the room. Antonio looked at my sympathetically. "Ah, that was a stupid move, my friend. You couldn't have played it cool, could you? Tsk. Such a smarty pants mouth on you. Well, let's get you home before you cause any more trouble."

XxXxX

_Ring, ring. _Huh? What?

_Ring, ring._ Urg. I rolled over pulling the covers over my head. I have had one hell of a long night. Just leave me alone. I need to sleep for fifteen or twenty hours.

_Ring, ring. Ring, ring._ Finally, my stupid phone shut up. I sighed contentedly and nestled back into my pillows.

_Ring, ring. _You're kidding me. They're calling back? Groaning, I got up. Argh! Hangover alert! Holy fuck. Somebody better be fucking dying or on fire.

_Ring, Ri-_"Ello?"

"_MISTER_ BEILSCHMIDT." Don't tell me he's calling me this fucking early.

"Roderich, what do you want," I said flatly. It took all of my niceness and charm just to muster that phrase. What I really wanted to do was murder him through the phone.

"It's _nine thirty_ in the morning. You told me that you were coming over to start the investigation today."

"Uh, _yeah. _At, like, a more reasonable hour." How I managed to speak to Edelstein without using a single curse word is beyond me.

"A more reasonable hour," he practically screeched. "I'm not paying you to flounce around at your own leisure. I expect you to be here within a half hour or I will be over in an hour to have my money back. _GOODBYE."_ He hung up the phone. Actually, it kinda amused me that he said goodbye instead of just slamming down the phone like I know he wanted to. He's too fucking refined. I bet he's never genuinely smiled in his whole pathetic life.

I'd quit. Really, I would. Except I didn't have his money any more. I gave it to Francis last night. And if having an angry Edelstein at his house was bad then having a positively irate Edelstein demanding his money back on the spot while standing in my living room was even worse.

Ok, so who wants to set a world record for getting completely showered, dressed, and necking a whole bottle of aspirin before jumping in my car and high tailing it to Edelstein's house? That would be me.

**[Translations and authors notes on the story—**

**Vraiment—Really/Truly? **

**Mon ami—my friend**

"**He told me he could sell anything, even if it was hot"—meaning that he could sell stolen items that the police are looking for**

**Bud Lite really sucks**

_**Sephora **_**is a large makeup store that was established in France. It's pretty posh. Well, at least the one I visited in Paris was. Anyways, a couple of years ago they began setting up mini **_**Sephora **_**stores in **_**J.C Pennys **_**stores. I thought Francis would appreciate this :3 **

**Can I say that I almost pissed myself while writing Romano calling Ludwig a 'county mountie?' Hahahaha, thank you, Wikipedia. **

**Boring talk from your author—so I really enjoyed writing this chapter :3 A whole lot. Haha. I really hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Please leave reviews, specifically on how you like the tone of the story and the language—logistical stuff, you know. I need some assurance. I'm cheap like that. : / ]**


	4. So many easter eggs that it's sickening

Have you ever been in a car that was Tokyo drifting? I hadn't—not until today.

Do you know how hard it is to Tokyo drift a 2001 Toyota Camry? Pretty damned hard. And, uh, it's not like I was scared out of my fucking mind when I turned that corner too fast and spun out on a shitload of gravel. Nope. I did it on purpose. Like a boss.

Exactly twenty six minutes after I hung up the phone at my house I was standing on Edelstein's porch. Or, at least I _think_ it's Edelstein's porch. The place was certainly posh enough to belong to Edelstein. The house looked large from the outside, two stories and a full attic at least. The façade resembled a French manor house, similar to the one in the pictures Francis showed me of when he visited his wealthy grandparents in the Val de la Loire last summer. The outer walls were a dove grey brick and the windows were tall, accented on either side by fancy white shutters. Damn, I can only imagine what the upkeep on a fancy place like this must cost. Good thing Edelstein was rich and famous. He'd have to be, to own a piano worth half a mil—rich, that is.

Edelstein's front yard was closely cut and accented by overflowing flower beds. There was a slightly worn welcome mat under my feet. Really, is this the right house?

Only one way to find out. I pushed the doorbell and waited. Just as I was about to press the button again it opened. Edelstein was standing there, a look of annoyance on his face and a pocket watch in his hand. He glanced at the pocket watch before snapping it shut and placing it in his pocket.

"Twenty nine minutes," he said flatly. "Do come in, Mister Beilschmidt." Fucking bastard. I followed him into his house. Expecting the inside to be as grand as the outside, I was taken aback to enter a sparsely furnished living room. I glanced back at the door, as if double checking that the door I just entered actually belonged on the front of the ornate French manor.

"This way, Mister Beilschmidt," Edelstein said, a peculiar look in his eyes. Before I could place the emotion in his face, Edelstein turned away and walked down the hall. _He's probably just still pissed at me being late,_ I thought. Quickly, I followed my client down the hall. There were several heavy oak doors lining the hall, but all of them were closed, save for the last one on the left. This seemed to be the door that Edelstein was walking towards. He glanced back briefly to make sure I was still following him before entering.

The room was large. Large, and peculiarly shaped. The room was longer than it was wide and the wall opposite the doorway was lined with tall windows. Bright morning light spilled in and cast bright rectangles upon the crème, stone tiled floor. I paused in the doorway, taking in the effect. Edelstein was glancing back at me, the look on his face saying _I know, right?_ I was caught up in the moment, in the effect. The light was slanting across his face now, his glasses casting a thin shadow on his cheek bones. I felt my lips unconsciously matching the soft, serene smile on his lips.

And then I snapped the fuck out of it.

"So…" I said intelligently, averting my eyes.

"Ah, yes," Edelstein said, clearing his throat. "This room used to be a dining hall used only for special occasions when my mother was still alive. However, once she passed I converted this place into my practice room. Great acoustics, enchanting lighting, room to set up chairs if I fancied giving a private concert. As you can see this room is perfect. Unfortunately, as you can also see, this room has a particularly wide set of French doors that lead to the garden terrace."

"And the burglars took the piano out of those doors and loaded it up?" I finished.

"Precisely. When I arrived home the French doors were wide open and there were various sets of footprints across the floor. There were tire tracks crisscrossing the yard. And my piano was gone," Edelstein said bitterly. "Unfortunately, both the footprints and tire tracks are not longer here. After the police finished up their investigation my maid cleaned the floor. The heavy rains we've had the last couple of days took care of the tire tracks. I'm afraid that in terms of concrete evidence this visit may be less than fruitful."

"Not a worry Mister Edelstein. I didn't expect there to be much evidence as the crime occurred six days ago. Really, I just wanted to get a feel for the house, to see what it would take to nick the piano. Knowing the layout of your house will help me get a foothold on what the criminals were thinking and how much trouble they went to in order to burglarize you. As for concrete evidence, my brother is a police officer. He's going to get me a copy of the official police report," I finished, feeling pretty damned professional. Man, I wish you could see me right now, notebook out, in total control. It was pretty fucking impressive if I may say so myself.

At the mention of my brother being a police officer, Edelstein's eyebrows arched in surprise. Obviously he hadn't known. Well, why would he have? _He must be pretty ecstatic right now, _I thought amusedly, _this kind of prick loves it when things move uber efficiently. _

"Well that's… convenient," Edelstein said. "I'll leave you to your investigating, Mister Beilschmidt. I'll leave the door to my study open if you need anything." I nodded to show I understood and Edelstein walked away.

Left alone in the practice room, I felt rather lost. I pursed my lips trying to decide what to do. In all honestly I was pretty fucking new at this detective thing. For a moment, my mind turned back to my high school philosophy class. What was it that Sartre said? That a waiter is only playing at being a waiter in order to get a better feel for his existence in humanity? Well, maybe I should play at being a detective. Hell, I'd watched enough film noires and prime time television to know the kind of stuff detectives did. This may not have been exactly what Sartre was talking about but then again, who knew what that crazy fuck meant. Isn't he the guy that chopped his best friend's ear off in a duel?

Welp, nothing to do but dive right in, right? And from now on, please call me Detective Beilschmidt. It will help me stay in character. Wait, who am I even talking to? Ok, enough fooling around.

First, I investigated the large French doors. After all, they were the scene of the crime. I exited into the terrace and closed the doors behind me. Looking back contemplatively, I noticed several things. Number one, none of the glass on the doors or long windows was broken, and I think Edelstein would have mentioned if that's how they had gained entrance. I examined the door handles. They were typical French door handles with one of those flimsy locks in the center. Above the door handle, however, there was one of those deadbolts, the kind you need a key to open. Thus bringing us to point number two. I ran the pads of my fingertips over the scarring on the metal. Obviously, someone had picked the lock, their equipment slipping a few times and scratching the dull metal of the lock.

I noted these details in my handy dandy detective pad and thought over the information. So far, all signs point to professionals. If it had been simple coked out punks breaking into this joint they wouldn't have went for the piano. Even if they somehow had knowledge of the piano and its worth prior to the break in they would have went for items that were more accessible and easy to sell quickly. No, whoever did it knew the value of the piano and was willing to keep it for an unknown period of time before being able to find a seller. They were in it for the long haul, unless they had a buyer lined up before the heist.

I tapped my pen quickly against my note pad as I thought. I definitely had some questions for Edelstein. Perhaps he even knew who stole his piano personally. Some fellow musician, wildly jealous of the Bösendorfer. I tapped my pen faster. Yes, that's a good theory. Not the only theory, mind you, but a solid contender none the less. Suddenly, the pen that I had been haphazardly tapping against my notebook flew out of my fingers and catapulted into the bushes beneath the windows.

Aw shit. I climbed into bushes after my pen. Where the hell is it? I couldn't hardly see as the dense foliage of the bushes blocked out the light from under the plants. I spied something ghostly white in upon the ground. It was too short to be my pen but I picked it up anyways. It was a cigarette butt. Hmmm…. Edelstein didn't look like the type to smoke and no cop would be stupid enough to contaminate the scene of the crime. Could this be evidence? Probably nothing even remotely useful but it was the only tangible find I had. I put the butt in my pants pocket. Searching around for a few minutes more, I was able to find my pen. I popped out of the bushes and a few leaves fell from my hair. I don't think I could explain what I was doing if Edelstein happened to come check on my progress. I hopped out of the bushes quickly.

I examined the rest of the room but there was nothing to note save the absence of the piano. I shut the doors of a tall cupboard full of sheet music and exited the room. Time to talk to Edelstein.

XxXxX

I knocked on the open door of the study. "Mister Edelstein?" Gosh, it fucking killed me to call this prick _mister. _"Ah, Mister Beilschmidt, done with your investigation, then?"

"Please, call me detective," I said coolly. As an afterthought I checked my watch. Holy shit, an hour has passed since I've arrived. I didn't even notice while I was investigating. Looking up I could see Edelstein's face was scrunched up incredulously.

"Ah, ok then, _Detective Beilschmidt _is there something that you needed from me?"

"Yes, in fact. I have some questions for you. For starters, can you give me a running list of people that have access to your estate? Gardeners, cooks, you mentioned a maid?"

"Yes, only the maid and me of course. Her name is Esmeralda Suarez. I don't think she can help you, though. She only comes around two days a week and she was visiting her family in Mexico until just three days ago. She's seventy two years old. I hardly doubt she'd conspire to steal my piano."

"I'd still like to speak to her, if you don't mind. Anyone else? Not even necessarily recently. Anyone in the past couple months? A cable repair man, private guests, anyone who would have been in a position to case your house and see the piano?" Edelstein thought hard.

"No, nothing comes to mind. I hardly entertain visitors, save my ex wife, that is." His _what?_Francis definitely never mentioned her. And I know he wouldn't willingly leave out a detail like that. I looked up from my notebook to Edelstein. He looked embarrassed. "My ex wife, Elizaveta Héderváry, she visits quite often. Mist-uh-Detective Beilschmidt, my marriage was not something privy to the public. It was how Elizaveta and I wanted it. I would appreciate your discretion on this?" I nodded and muttered of course. "Good," he continued, visibly relaxing. "We were wed five years ago and divorced a year ago. It's complicated," he said moodily. "We… well I suppose we were better suited as best friends than lovers. At any rate, neither of us holds a grudge against the other. In fact, we get along quite swimmingly. I was actually with Elizaveta the night of the theft." I scribbled this information in my awesome notebook.

"Mister Edelstein, can you think of anyone who would be interested in your piano? Perhaps someone who has asked to buy it in the past or who has given you the impression that they coveted it?"

"That's a tough question. No one particular comes to mind but I did a show case about two years back where I was interviewed by several musical-centered museums about my Bösendorfer. So, in theory, everyone who is seriously invested in the musical community would know that I had the Bösendorfer. Not much help, I'm afraid," he said with a pained smile.

My client was pretty less than fucking helpful. I let out a sigh. There was only one thing left to ask him. "Do you smoke?"

"Of course not." He sounded offended. Great. "Disgusting habit, in my opinion. Why do you ask?"

"No reason. I think that will do for today, Mister Edelstein. Tonight I'll review the police records and tomorrow I'm going to talk to your maid and ex wife."

Edelstein stood up and moved to shake my hand. "Sounds good. Please call me if any new leads turn up. And Detective Beilschmidt, I'm counting on you."

XxXxX

_Detective Beilschmidt, I'm counting on you._

For some reason that statement left me uneasy. I couldn't quite peg why until I had locked my car up and started up the stairs to my apartment. Then I realized it was because I didn't want to fail at this case. I thought about how right it had felt looking for clues and formulating ideas while investigating Edelstein's music room. It had felt _right. _Better than any other job I had ever had. West told me that the reason I started my investigation agency was because I was lazy and idealistic. Well, I couldn't disagree with him there but some part of me also felt like it was the right place for me to be. Like I was born to be a P.I.

Sure, I hadn't had any major cases until Edelstein's but damn, I had to start somewhere, right? And I really wanted this to work out—I needed this to work out. I needed something to go right in my mediocre life. I needed to be good at something; I needed to have a _niche. _

And starting my detective career out with an outright failure seemed wrong. Dammit, I am determined to find that piano!

So preoccupied was I with my thoughts that I damn near ran into Feliciano standing by my apartment door. "The hell?" I said. West was here too, and boy did he look pissy.

"Where have you been?" he demanded.

"uh, well," I began sheepishly. "I worked on my case all morning and then I went out to eat lunch. Afterwards, I went to the library and started reading this book about classical pianos and kinda fell asleep. Then, I uh, drove home?" It unintentionally became a question as if I were asking West if my answer was satisfactory.

"It's five o'clock," he responded angrily.

"Five thirteen by my watch," I added helpfully.

"You have no idea why I am pissed at you, do you?" he asked in a way that let me know that he already had the answer.

"Nope. Not at all." Remember, kids, honesty is the best policy.

West sighed heavily. "Gilbert," he said slowly, like he was talking to a child. Hmph. I resent that. "Do you remember the conversation we had three weeks ago where I asked you if you could stay with Feli while I was at the police conference this week?"

"No-oo" I said, drawing it out. Wait, I'm vaguely recalling something about—nope. I've got nothing.

"_Gilbert, _damn it all! I don't have time for this! I was supposed to drop Feli off at four thirty and leave! I wanted to be at my hotel before it got too late!"

"He's a grown-assed man. Why would you need me to baby sit him?" I vaguely realized that I was talking like Feliciano wasn't even here but I was too busy being defensive to worry about his feelings.

"I don't want to leave him alone. He hates it and I know I'd feel more comfortable knowing Feli is safe. This is exactly what I told you on the phone," he said exasperatedly.

"Fine, fine," I relented. "He can stay the week. But you better come and get him first thing once you get back, you hear? And I can't stay with him all day. I have a case to investigate, you know."

"Yes, yes. I know, I know. And that's fine. Just as long as you're home in the evenings," West sounded relieved. Grumbling, I opened the door to my apartment. West carried a suitcase in and set it by the couch. "That reminds me, I have those files you wanted." He handed them over. "Also, I've left Feli some money to buy groceries. I figured that you probably only had beer and condiments in the fridge." Food money? Fuck yes! West saw the grin on my face and added, "but Feli gets to pick out the groceries." Aw, dammit. West is such a fucking buzz kill sometimes. Well, all the time.

West held his arms open to Feliciano, who promptly jumped into them and kissed West passionately. Ugh. Come on now. Finally, they separated and West gave Feliciano one last peck. Smiling at his boyfriend West squeezed Feliciano's hands and said "I love you." Can I just take this moment to say that it took every ounce of my awesome, manly will to not say anything sarcastic or berating? Sniffling a little, Feliciano said, "I love you too. Have fun at your police conference."

"I will. But I have to go now. I'm already late because of Gilbert." They parted hands and West left, throwing one last smiley "I love you" and one last frowny "don't fuck this up, Gilbert" over his shoulder.

The door closed and I was left alone with a slightly weepy Feliciano. This was going to be one hell of a long week.

XxXxX

Standing there awkwardly, I had no idea what to say to this guy. Thankfully after about a minute Feliciano dried up his tears and began rummaging around his suitcase. "What are you-," I began before Feliciano pullout out a box of pasta and a jar of homemade spaghetti sauce.

"Are you hungry, Gilbert?" he asked cheerfully.

"Well, yeah. Now that you mention it, I kinda am." I honestly don't know how to take this guy.

"Great! Then I'll make pasta! I'll come get you when it's done, kay?" Then he skipped off to the kitchen. Um, ok.

Sitting at my desk I opened the file and perused the documents. It was all pretty boring stuff. A lengthy theft filing, close up black and whites of the tire tracks and footprints. According to the report, the tire tracks belonged to a 1997 Ford F-250 and another unknown tire, presumed to belong to some sort of trailer. There were at least six sets of footprints with half a dozen unidentifiable ones that could indicate more suspects or just belong to the six known. There only fingerprints at the scene were identified as belonging to Roderich Edelstein and Esmeralda Suarez. The burglars must have worn gloves. No further trace evidence was recovered. No witnesses.

What a fucking nightmare. I let my head fall into my hands. I turned to the last page in the file. It was just a copy of the claim Edelstein filed with his insurance company. Hopefully I could get something, _anything_ when I talked to the maid and the ex tomorrow. Suddenly remembering the butt in my pocket I pulled it out and let it roll onto my blotter. Half heartedly, I poked at it with the tip of my pen. Even if I had a way to have the DNA on the butt ran I doubt anything would turn up because of the heavy rain. I sighed and continued to roll the butt around. It certainly was no cigarette brand I'd ever seen. The rolling paper and filter were both white and there was a double line of navy around the filter. I flipped it over one more time with my pen before I noticed the picture above the double line. Picking the butt up and bringing it closer to my face I studied the picture. It appeared to me to be some sort of minimalist griffin, also printed in navy blue ink. How peculiar.

Taking an old _Altoids _can from my desk, I deposited the butt. I also drew a picture of the griffin in my notebook. Sitting back to admire my work, my _mighty fine_ work, I heard Feliciano call to me from the kitchen. "Ve~ dinner is ready, Gilbert!" I'm not exactly sure how to describe the _squiggle _in his voice, but take my word for it; regular punctuation could not do it justice.

XxXxX

"Gilbert," Feliciano said uncomfortably, "why are you staring at me?"

"I'm trying to decide a nick name for you," I said evenly, eyes never leaving his face. "You could call me Feli," he suggested helpfully. "Nope," I responded. "Too cutesy. And Feliciano is too long." I continued staring. Feliciano squirmed in his seat before taking another bite of pasta. I snapped my fingers before sitting back and taking a bite of pasta. "Italy. I'm going to call you Italy from now on."

Italy looked confused. "Why would you do that?"

"Because," I said, mouth full of garlic bread, "You're Italian-so Italian that it hurts. Your family runs the fucking Italian mob in this city. You cook the best fucking Italian food ever. You speak Italian. You're none of that fake Italian bullshit that fourth generation guidos blab on about. You, my friend," I pointed to him with my fork, "are the real fucking deal. Why? Don't you like the nickname I gave you?"

"No," he said bashfully, "I, uh, like it. Especially since it's from you," he said brightly. "Do you really like my cooking?" he asked hopefully.

"Fuckin A I do!" At this Italy cringed. Oh, I better lay off the cursing. He probably thinks I'm cursing _at _him. That's just the kind of softie he is. Besides, West would kill me if I gave his boyfriend a stress ulcer.

"Uh, I mean, yep. I like it a lot, Italy. West's lucky to get to eat like this all the time." Italy went back to being happy.

XxXxX

So there I was, enjoying a tasty cup of after dinner coffee (where did Italy even find crème in the barren wasteland of my fridge?) when the phone rang. Feeling relaxed and at peace with the world I lazily snagged the phone off the hook. "Ello?"

"Gil? Ah am zo glad you ah okay."

"Really now, Francis," I said mildy, flopping on the couch. "If you were so concerned for my safety then maybe you shouldn't have sold me out to the _fucking Italian mob," _I hissed the last part into the phone, conscious of the fact that Italy was in the kitchen doing dishes. He never stopped humming or clinking dishes so I don't think he heard me.

"Hear me out," Francis whined. Gosh, did I fucking hate his pathetic mother fucking kicked puppy routine. The next time I see that scraggily chinned knob jockey I'm going to put a foot up his ass solely on principle.

"How about you go fuck yourself on a spiked fence, you fucking frog? But, please, be sure to enjoy the fucking blood money you sold me out for first. I'm sure you'll be able to buy a grand old evening full of the shitty lite beer and two dollar whores you're so fond of."

"So hurtful, _mon cher_. Ah you finished?"

"_If you were my dog, I'd put you to sleep solely on principle." _At this point I was panting with anger. "Ok. I'm finished."

"_Ecoutez, _Gilbert. Ah was doing you a favor, I swear it. You told me zat you didn't have any money. You were so broke zat you could hardly pay your bills after Ludwig's accident. Well, ah heard through ze grape vine zat Vargas was offering money to anyone who could get Gilbert Beilschmidt into his office—just for a tiny chat, you see. And of course I realized zat it would be in your best interest for ze person who sold you out to be me. Because I would get ze money and split it with my dear friend."

"Zat would be you," Francis said after a full minute of me saying absolutely nothing. I sighed. Damn him.

"Did it ever occur to you," I said wearily, "to discuss this with me before you just went ahead and did it?"

"Ah thought it would look more authentic if ah didn't tell you. If Vargas' men walked into ze bar and you went with zem willingly Vargas would probably zink it was a set up or somezing. Ah didn't think you'd get mad at me." And the hell of it was that Francis genuinely did seem confused by my anger. I'm surrounded by fucking idiots.

"Well _Quelle fucking surprise _because I am pissed at you."

"_Mon cher, _what can ah do to make zis better? Ah'm sorry, ok?"

"If you want to make this better, Francis, you'll take my cut of the money—and you'll be honest about dividing it up you bastard—and invest it for me. Also," I added, "you'll buy me two crates of German beer. The good shit too. Imported. And finally, you'll help me find this fucking piano with absolutely no whining."

"Ok, deal," Francis said, sounding relieved. "It is ze least ah can do, ah suppose. Ah'll call you sometime tomorrow and give you anyzing I've found out. Goodbye, Gilbert."

I hung up the phone, rubbing my temples. It's fucking amazing how this ended up working out for me. A new (fucking easy) case, money, German beer, and Francis' help without him constantly bitching at me. But of course, I won't be telling Francis that Vargas hired me. If I let that turn coat know he did me a favor I'd never live it down.

XxXxX

After Italy was done with the dishes he meandered into the living room, a cup of coffee in his hand. "Ve~ Gilbert, who's this?" He showed me the framed picture he held in his hand.

"Hmm? Oh. That's me, West, and our grandpa Fritz." Italy frowned at the picture and ran the tip of his finger over the old man's face. Grandpa had large jowls and snow white hair, which he always wore slicked back. All in all, he looked like one stern mother fucker. "Funny," Italy commented, "Ludwig never mentioned him."

"I doubt he would," I agreed. "He wasn't very close with grandpa Fritz. When we were kids he told me Fritz scared the living daylights outa him. I always liked grandpa, though. Probably because I was older and could do more stuff with him." I missed grandpa Fritz. He had been around a hell of a lot more than our dad when we were kids. Grandpa passed when I was thirteen and west was ten. Like I said, I missed the old man.

"You and Ludwig don't have much family left, do you," Italy mused. "At least, Ludwig never talks about having any living family. It makes me sad. Family is so important." Oh, an evil idea has just popped into my head. Am I enough of a yellow bellied bastard to act on it?

"You're right, Italy. Family is _so very _important. Friends, hell, even lovers will come and go, but you will always have your family." I noticed that Italy's lower lip was trembling slightly and he wouldn't look me in the face.

"Hmm. I-I know that Gilbert. And that's why it kills me that Romano h-h-ha-WAAAAA!" As west's love dissolved into a weeping puddle of goo I felt like a horrible fucking person. Like, what the hell is wrong with me? I can be so disgustingly manipulative sometimes. The feeling only got worse as I gently pried the coffee mug away from Italy's grasp so he wouldn't spill it everywhere. I led him over to the couch and he plopped down, still weeping violently. At a complete loss at what to do, I tried to think what a normal, caring person would do to comfort him. I sat down beside Italy and opened my arms. He fell into them, weeping into my shoulder.

Oh my gosh, this is soooooooo awkward. I patted Italy on the back and inwardly cringed. What if he just kept crying forever? What if he cried for so long that he got dehydrated, passed out, and had to go to the hospital? It's looking like a possibility based on how violently he's bawling.

"Feli?" I said tentatively. "Calm down there bud. Shhh." After about three minutes of this Italy finally calmed down. Lifting his head from my shoulder, Italy sat up and grabbed a tissue from his pocket. I felt a resurgence of guilt as I took in his sad face. Ewwww my shoulder is all wet now too.

"Feli, have you ever thought of calling your brother up and apologizing?" Yes, I was a low down, dirty rotten, no ballsed, slimy cur for continuing on with my nefarious idea but the damage was already done, right? It would be wasteful and cruel of me not to turn Italy's sadness in to hope.

Italy sniffed once again and rubbed at his eyes. Wearily he said, "Romano would never forgive me no matter what I did."

"How can you say that without trying? C'mon Feliciano, we'll call him right now." Looking at me hopefully Italy nodded in agreement. I passed him the phone. Italy dialed the number and smiled at me nervously as it rang. "H-hello? Brother? No, please don't hang up! I just want to apologize for everything that has happened between us. I don't want us to fight anymore. You're my brother and I—no, don't Romano please!" After a moment Italy set the phone gently back on the cradle.

"What happened?" I had a feeling that it wasn't good.

Italy gave a mirthless chuckle. _"Mio fratello, _he yelled 'don't ever call me again you fucking fag' then hung up the phone. " What? This was not part of the plan! And may I take a second to remind everybody that this was _Romano's _plan at that?

There was a hard look in Feliciano's eye that did not become his gentle nature. "Romano is not my brother. A real brother, a real family would love me no matter what. You know what Gilbert? Fuck Romano. _Fuck _him! I'm done!" He threw his arms up in the air to emphasize his point then stalked away. I heard the door to the bathroom slam shut. And here I was, sitting on the couch looking shell shocked. Um, _what the hell just happened? _

XxXxX

**[Translation: Ecoutez-listen**

**mio fratello- my brother**

**A/N thank you for reading, favoriting, adding alerts, and reviewing! I hope you are enjoying the story. Reviews are always appreciated! For the record I don't like Feli swearing but I thought it would add to the ~drama~ haha. Ugh. I put so many easter eggs in this story that it's sickening. Hate the author, not the story please. =_=] **


	5. The Devil's in the details

**[A/N Major plot progression…. Brace yourself. It may get bumpy.]**

The next morning I woke up to the smell of pancakes. At first my confuzzled mind was sure that I'd passed out piss drunk at IHOP again—but no, I was in my bed. Then what could be the source of this deliciousness? Oh, yeah. Feliciano. West dumped him off at my apartment yesterday.

I am by no means a morning person but I hopped out of bed and hustled my ass to the kitchen. Italy was just flipping a pancake in the air as I entered the kitchen. "Ve~Gil, you're up! I hope you like pancakes." Who doesn't like fucking pancakes? Nazis. That's who. "I like pancakes," I agreed, "Um, Italy, where did you get the stuff to make pancakes. Is that syrup? Where did you find that?"

"I went to the store this morning," Italy said while he poured more batter into the pan. Well, that explains that. The only thing it doesn't explain is why Italy was up that damn early. I really can't stand morning people. Well, unless they make me pancakes.

Italy seems rather cheerful considering what happened last night, I mused. I knew better than to ask him about it, though. Let West handle that train wreck—and I'll try to handle the other Vargas brother. The crazier of the two. Who is also technically my client. This is some fucked up shit, I'm telling you what!

Italy motioned me towards the table with his spatula. I didn't have long to wait before he brought me over a huge plate of pancakes. Oh, they were beautiful. I could have cried. I smothered them in syrup before digging in. Halfway through my breakfast, Italy joined me with a smaller stack of pancakes and two glasses of orange juice. Damn, this boy was a good homemaker. It's a good thing he's a dude or else I'd probably make a pass at him, West or no West.

Forcing my thoughts away from the rapidly developing plan to find a hot babe who was awesome, smart, funny, and a fantastic homemaker wasn't easy. However, I have to think about my case. But I mean it's cool. I'm not one of those guys who will only date a girl with a certain hair color. Blond, brunet, redhead, black, shiny hair—it's all good. Damn it, the CASE Gilbert, think of the CASE!

I should give Roderich's maid a call as soon as I'm done with breakfast. She lives all the way across town and there's no way I'm driving over there. Because I'm lazy. And bad at navigating. But that's for later because right now Italy's putting a fresh stack of pancakes on my plate. Don't judge me. If I didn't eat them then they'd go to waste.

XxXxX

Very rarely do I have a headache before noon. Hell, very rarely am I up before noon.

I'd just gotten off of the phone with Esmeralda. As you can expect, she was less then helpful. From what I could tell by talking to her on the phone she is old as fuck and slightly frail. I kind of feel like Edelstein's more of an ass for making some wobbly old lady clean his house. Fucking slave driver.

At the rate I was going, this investigation was going to be dead before the end of the day. I sighed heavily and let my head fall into my hands. This may be the despair talking, but if this case fails I think I'll go out and get a real job. Something respectable and boring. I'll wear a suit and shave every morning. West will be so proud. That sounds awful.

Well, one last lead. I'm praying that it will work out.

XxXxX

Just as I was getting ready to walk out of the door the telephone rang. I didn't pick it up. I hate answering the phone when I'm already doing something. Just as I was getting ready to turn the corner in the apartment building's hallway Italy opened the door and called for me. "Giiiilbert~ Francis is on the phoooooone~!" I sighed. _I almost made it to the stairs,_ I silently lamented.

I headed back and took the phone from Italy's grip. "Make it quick frenchie. I'm just heading out the door."

"Ahh, well, Gilbert, ah have zat information you wanted. Ah talked to ze Dutchman last night. You would have been so proud. Ah was sneaky about it. Ah didn't jus' come out and ask him ah pumped him for information like a pro! Ah says to him, what would you have to say if ah told you zat ah had a client who was willing to pay ze big money for an antique piano? Say, something in ze ballpark or three quarters mil? But only for a nice one, you understand."

"Uh, huh. And what did he say?"

"Well, after he was done spitting his drink all over ze table he practically ripped his shirt off getting his cellular out of his pocket. He made a couple of calls and could find nothing like ze piano you ah looking for. Ze Dutchman, he knows nothing."

"Hum. That's disappointing. I don't know quite what to make of it. Thanks for asking, Francis."

"You ah so very welcome. See, don't zings go so much smoother when we ah nice to each other?" I just hung up the phone. Damn Frenchman.

XxXxX

"Well, I'm certain that I don't know anything helpful, but if it will help Roderich then I'll talk with you." Elizaveta Héderváry said opening the door wider, "Please, come in." I followed her into her living room. First impressions? Daaaaaaamn! Elizaveta is fine. How is it that women like this go for dudes like Edelstein? _Ok, Gilbert. Remember; when you're talking to her be cool. Most importantly do NOT stare at her tits. _

I was so caught up in coaching myself not to fuck this up that I didn't really notice that we were actually seated in her living room. Elizaveta cleared her throat delicately and I snapped out of it. "Oh! Yes, as I was saying, I just have a few questions. I'm just trying to fish for clues. You may know something that seems trivial, but could very well be the key piece in this case." Elizaveta seemed less than impressed at my spiel. Fine then. Down to actual business.

"So, you were with Roderich the night of the theft?"

"Mmm, yes. We went to see a movie. A romantic comedy. I can't recall the name of it. That new one, the one with the actor from that movie that was so popular last summer? You know who I mean, don't you?"

"Sure….." I said. In these types of situations it's just easier for all involved if you agree. Trust me.

"Well, after the movie Roderich was feeling ill. He didn't seem right throughout the movie. I yelled at him. I don't know why he came out with me if he was so ill. Silly boy," she said with a soft chuckle. "He hates to let anyone down. He's a sweetheart like that." Excuse me while I go gag.

"We stopped by my place after the movie to have a drink. After that I took him back to his house. I came in to get a brochure for the Young Musical Achievers Gala the theater is having next month. While I was waiting in the living room I heard Roderich shout. He had noticed that the door to his practice room was open, and he never leaves it open. His piano was gone. After that we called the police." I wrote the details in my notebook despairingly. These were definitely not the case turning words I was hoping for.

Elizaveta tsked. "It's a damned shame that something so horrible had to happen to Roderich. He really is a dear. Vash and I worry so much about him. It's really not fair when bad things happen to good people."

"Vash?" I inquired.

"Yes, Vash Zwingli—Roderich's childhood friend? Surely Roderich mentioned him. Vash hangs around Roderich's house even more than I do."

"No," I said. "Roderich's never mentioned him." Wait, did I just call him Roderich? The hell? I scribbled Vash's name and address courtesy of Elizaveta into my notebook. How peculiar that Edelstein wouldn't mention this guy to me. I specifically asked him for the names of everybody who hung around his house. I'll pay this guy a visit next. He only lives twenty minutes away.

"Elizaveta, you don't happen to smoke, do you?"

"No. Are you kidding me? Roderich would have had a fit while we were married," she laughed.

"What was it like being married to him? If you don't mind me asking, that is." I know this is probably a rude thing to ask but I just had to know. I just can't see these two married.

"Well, I don't mind telling you as long as you keep this to yourself. It was nice—being married to Roderich I mean. I knew him for quite some time before we were married. I suppose you could say we never even dated. We were just best friends one day and engaged the next. Once we were married nothing changed. We were still best friends—but that was it. There was no spark between us. We tried our hardest, really we did, but we just weren't suited to be lovers. Still, Roderich treated me so good. He'd have given me the moon if he could. And I helped him out as best as I could by being there for him and keeping his affairs in order. Once my citizenship was established we divorced with absolutely no hard feelings."

"Your citizenship?" I said started. "So, you married Roderich for your papers?" Elizaveta became immediately hostile. "Look here, _Detective, _I did not marry Roderich for a _green card_ and I will not have it said otherwise. Roderich proposed to _me_. I certainly didn't push him into it and at the time I really did think I loved him. When I came to terms with the fact that we were not in love and never could be I told Roderich he could divorce me with no hard feelings. He insisted that we remain married at least until I had my citizenship."

I threw my palms up defensively. "Sorry. I was just making an observation." She was not having any of it. "If you have nothing further to say, Detective, I suggest you get the hell out of my house." Ok. No way am I putting up with lip from this woman. I apologized, didn't I? 

"Hey, I said I was sorry. I would have never even brought it up if I knew you were going to bite my head off."

Elizaveta's eyes narrowed. "To be frank, Beilschmidt, I don't like you. I don't like the looks of you and I don't like your attitude. You sit there playing at whatever game is going on in your head and try to move people around like pawns. I don't know why Roderich would hire a shady character like you. So how about you _get the hell out of my house before I throw you out._"

"Yeah," I said, oozing sarcasm. "I really must be off, Miss Héderváry. Things to do, people to see, you know how it is." I mocked her with a bow before saying "have a nice day, Ma'am." I turned around and stalked out. It may be dangerous to turn my back on this broad but if I look her in the eye again we'll just set off into a new round of arguing.

This is why I don't deal with women. They're all bipolar bitches.

XxXxX

I really felt like I was on to something as I rang Zwingli's doorbell. The fact that Roderich didn't mention him is super suspicious. Especially if the two are as close as Elizaveta said. I had to wait awhile before the door opened. A bored looking blond man stood in front of me. "Yes," he said, the self importance and contempt in his voice truly astounding. Really, how could someone appear so bored with the world without being actually asleep?

"Hello. I'm Detective Gilbert Beilschmidt. Are you Vash Zwingli?"

"Who wants to know," he practically yawned.

Ok, is he fucking dense? "I do. Detective Gilbert Beilschmidt. I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions regarding our mutual acquaintance Roderich Edelstein?" This caught his attention. He looked at me for the first time, all trace of ennui gone. He studied me for a moment before saying "I think you had better come in."

Once seated Zwingli didn't take his eyes off of me for a second. His legs were crossed and he rested his elbows on his leg. His fingertips touched. Vash was still as a statue. Cleary he wasn't making the first move. I cleared my throat.

"Mister Zwingli, Roderich Edelstein hired me to look into the theft of his piano. It would really help my investigation if I could ask you a couple of questions." 

Zwingli tiled his head and said. "Oh, you're the detective he hired then?"

"Well, yes," I said, confused. Zwingli visibly relaxed in his chair. Who exactly did Zwingli think I was? And secondly, did this guy not listen to a word I was saying? This is like the eight time I've repeated myself.

"Please, call me Vash. Mister Zwingli is my father. I'd be happy to answer any of your questions although I'm afraid I won't be much help."

"So," I began. "You and Mister Edelstein are close then? I talked to Miss Héderváry earlier and she said as much."

"Mmm… yes. I suppose you could say we are close. We've known each other since we were children. However, I would have to insist that Elizaveta is much closer with Roderich than I am. They were married after all."

"Elizaveta told me that you spend more time at Mister Edelstein's house than she does. I'm only working off of the information that Miss Héderváry provided me," I added.

"Hmmm…. Perhaps that was true in the past but I'm afraid that I haven't had much time to see Roderich socially in the past couple of years. You see, I am a high profile corporate investment broker who specializes in international stock trade. My career has really taken off in the past three years and I've been astonishingly busy, mostly working outside of the country."

"Can you tell me when the last time you actually seen Mister Edelstein was?"

"Oh, let's see. I saw him about six months ago at the Benedum Center. He was performing and I just happened to be in town in time to see it. Before that, well, I can't remember the last time I seen him exactly but it must have been at least a year and a half ago. I think Elizaveta was just moving out. I helped carry some boxes to the truck."

What Vash was saying definitely didn't match up with what Elizaveta said. Perhaps she didn't explicitly say that Vash was at Edelstein's house X amount of days ago, but she strongly implied that it had been there far more recently than a year and a half ago. One of them was lying to me.

I noticed the empty ash tray on the coffee table. "Vash, do you mind if I smoke?" He waved his hand and said "go ahead." I pushed my hand into my jacket pocket then pretended to check the other one. I patted my breast pocket and frowned. "Never mind. I must have left my cigarettes somewhere." Vash pulled a thin cigarette case out of his pants. "Please, Gilbert. Have one of mine. I always say that nothing should stand between a man and his guilty pleasure." He offered the case and I took one. Vash took one as well before snapping the case shut and tossing it onto the table. Next, he grabbed a lighter and offered me the light first. What a gentleman.

"Thanks," I said as I exhaled a stream of smoke into the air. As Vash lit his own cigarette I took another puff. "Hmm. These are good. Do I taste clove?"

Vash exhaled his own smoke before replying. "Yes, you do."

Rolling the cigarette in between my fingers I immediately recognized the double pin stripe and griffin. "So," I continued casually. I may have him but I can't let him know that yet. "I suppose I should apologize for bothering you. I wasn't aware that you were out of the country during the window I'm investigating."

"It's quite alright. I'm willing to help out if it concerns Roderich. I only wish I could be of any real use."

"Can you think of anyone who would want to do Roderich harm? Maybe even someone who would want his piano for themselves? Just anyone that comes to mind." 

Vash shook his head slowly. "No, I can't think of anyone. Everybody loves Roderich, you know. Everybody I've ever met, that is. If there _is_ someone who's giving him trouble I don't know about it. But like I said, I haven't been keeping up on Roderich's affairs."

"Hmm.." I commented. I wrote this information down for show. I decided it was time to spring my trap. I took another hit of the cigarette and exhaled it through my nose. "These have a really smooth taste." I commented.

"Yup. They're my favorite. Hey, if you're gonna get cancer get it right, eh?"

I chuckled. "You're right there, Vash. I'm really digging the cloves. Maybe I'll pick up a pack of these. What's the brand?"

"Sorry, Gilbert, but these are _Ponce de Leóns_. Hand rolled and sold only at some tiny tobacco shop in Bern. Not sold in any stores."

"Oh yeah?" I said, acting impressed. "Since you travel so much you're probably the only person in the country lucky enough to enjoy these babies."

"Yup," he said, his smugness showing.

"Then it's rather peculiar, isn't it, that I found a _Ponce de León_ butt in the bushes beside Roderich's music room. Considering you're the only person in the country that smokes them and all." I wish you could see this right now. I was sitting so non chalet, so _fucking ice cool_ while Vash slowly turned bright red and let his crossed leg fall to the ground. Sitting absolutely rigidly Vash was giving me a look that could absolutely kill and I just sat there, flicking my ashes into ashtray on the coffee table.

I looked up at Vash, still leaning over the coffee table with my cigarette. "Oh, but that's right. You haven't been to Roderich's house in over eighteen months. You seemed so sure of that."

"Beilschmidt, if you know what's in your best interest you'll forget all about this, putz around for your allotted two weeks, take your seven hundred dollars, and promptly _fuck off."_

I nodded and sat back. "What you're saying is that it would be in my best interest to turn the blind eye. And who else's interest would this be? Yours or Edelstein's?"

Vash narrowed his eyes. "I doubt you'll believe me when I say both. So please, go back to playing the dumb dick chasing a cold trail on a missing piano. It isn't any skin off of your nose to do your job mediocre. What are the chances you're gonna find that piano? Zip. Best to take your seven hundred with a smile and a thank you, sir." His eyes never left mine.

Still not breaking eye contact I nodded and said, "sure. I know better than to bite the hand that feeds me. I think I get it now, what's happening here. I'll act accordingly. After all, I won't get paid one red cent if anyone goes to jail." I stood up. "Thanks for the cigarette. I'll let myself out."

Sure, I told Vash one thing but I was certainly going to do another. Nobody fucks around with Gilbert Beilschmidt like he's some kind of toy.

XxXxX

As soon as he opened the door he was already yelling at me. "Beilschmidt, I just received a call from Elizaveta. According to her you were appallingly rude and crass. I don't—"

"Roderich, we need to talk," I said bluntly. I pushed past him and left him standing at the door. He humphed indignantly before slamming the door and following me.

I turned around to face him. What exactly was there to say to him? I guess I wanted to know why me. Although I had a sneaking suspicion it was because he had figured I'd be a royal fuck up. Ha. Maybe that's what I'm so angry about. All my life that's all people have seen me as. A royal fuck up. And maybe all my life that's what I'd been. But damn it all I wanted to be so much more. Here I finally thought I was getting my chance and it just crumbles around me. Fuck it. Fuck it all.

"Now look here," Roderich began, the stuffy, aristocratic air around him so thick that it made me want to gag.

"Shut the fuck up," I snapped. I've finally snapped. Roderich gasped at my uncouth behavior. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, Edelstein? Because I'm pretty sure that if I was going to commit insurance fraud I wouldn't hire a private detective."

Edelstein took a step backwards, clearly shocked at what I just said. He paled considerably. "I-I how _dare_ you accuse me of s-such a thing!" He may be ace at acting posh but he was a shit all liar. Not relenting I took a step forward.

"Do me a favor and cut the act. You're busted and we both know it. So how about you man up and tell me what the hell is going on? You owe me that much for dragging me into your bullshit. You owe me that much for not calling the fucking cops."

Edelstein visibly wilted. I almost felt bad for the bastard. He looked like someone had just kicked him in the gut, like a man who has been waiting for the axe to inevitably fall. I felt sympathy-almost. Roderich sat down heavily in an arm chair.

"Well. I suppose it would have been too good to be true if I had actually gotten away with this, then? It's true, Gilbert. I-I was trying to hustle the insurance company." I laughed mirthlessly.

"You greedy son of a bitch," I spat. "You're obviously loaded. I have no sympathy for you." Hell, I had half a mind to just to skip whatever pathetic explanation he had in favor of walking straight down to the police station.

Edelstein looked up sharply. "Greed? You think I did this out of greed?" he laughed. "Well, I suppose you're partially right. But that isn't the whole story. Then again, I wouldn't expect you to care either way."

I narrowed my eyes. "So go ahead. Try me. I've got all night, mother fucker."

Roderich glared at me. "Stop cursing at me. Why must you be so vulgar all of the time? Sit down and let me tell my side of the story." He continued to glare at me until I was seated. Retaining his last shred of dignity. I'm almost impressed. Almost.

"Contrary to what you—and the rest of my acquaintances—presume to know about me, I don't live a fabulous lifestyle. I don't entertain beyond my closest circle of friends. But even you can plainly see that my home is not lavishly furnished." Hm. Well, I can concur. I noticed that when I first walked in. Most of Edelstein's furniture is mid-ranged quality and slightly worn. "Instead of living fabulously I choose to keep back enough money for the upkeep of myself and my family's manor. I also pay Elizaveta a modest alimony." At my look he elaborated, "at my behest and discretion. She wouldn't take a cent of the money unless I insisted. All money left after that I donate to various charitable organizations. I see the incredulous look on your face, Gilbert, but it's the truth. Unlike my mother, I don't have a taste for throwing lavish dinners and balls. So, you see, it's not about the money. Not for me, at least." Is that a hint of bitterness I detect? Interesting.

"So get on with it, Edelstein. Why'd you do it?"

"Ha." He stopped to take off his glasses and scrub his face with his hands. He muttered something that sounded a tad like an exasperated fuck me before continuing. "I wish I could say that I was a good person. But if I was I suppose I wouldn't be in this situation, would I? How about this then; I'm a person predisposed to being extremely selfish who tries to be good but sometimes fails. Well, I failed big time.

"My most famous piano piece-_Romantic Concerto for Piano, No.1.—_wasn't written solely by me. I wrote the piece in collaboration with a fellow musician named Bernes Goulde. We kept our collaboration a secret because we wanted to debut the piece as a duet for the summer gala. A surprise for our fans, you see. There had been talk for quite some time urging Bernes and I to collaborate. Before we finished writing our concerto Bernes passed away quite suddenly. He had suffered from a heart failure. At his funeral—I don't know what came over me. I found myself sneaking away to his private music room. I knew where he kept his copy of our concerto and I took it. I stole the only copy while I was attending his fucking funeral. That's how despicable I am.

"Several weeks passed. I did nothing with the piece. It made me sick to even think about it lying locked in my drawer. Before I knew it, the gala was asking me to perform at Bernes' memorial banquet. I couldn't say no. I decided to play the piece. The _Romantic Concerto_ that we had co-authored. I really did plan to announce at the banquet that it had been Bernes' last collaboration but after the guests heard it they couldn't stop talking about how wonderful it was. How exquisitely written and flawlessly executed it was. I felt like it was too late to say anything. After all of those people just assumed-. Well.

"Gilbert, I know you don't like me and I honestly don't blame you. I haven't liked myself much this past year either."

I refused to feel sympathy for this asshole. It's not my problem if he had an ego pervasive enough to cause him to steal accolades from a dead man. "This still doesn't explain the Bösendorfer," I pointed out.

"I'm getting there," Edelstein replied tiredly. "Two weeks ago two men came to my home. I didn't know them but they said they said they knew me and knew what I had done. They came to blackmail me. Said they'd expose me to the musical community for what I was unless I paid them five hundred thousand dollars. I panicked. I told them that I didn't have that kind of money but they remained firm. Said I had one month to get the money. I don't have close to that much money. Like I said, I don't keep most of the money I earn. I have modest savings but nowhere near half a million dollars. I was at a loss. I had to pay these gents the money somehow. The only think I could come up with was selling the family estate or my Bösendorfer. Selling the estate would take much too long and raise too many questions. The Bösendorfer was the only thing I had that would work."

But to sell my Bösendorfer? I couldn't bear it. That piano is literally the only thing I have in my life that brings me joy. I'm not an evil person, Gilbert. I may be lacking in courage and honesty but by no means am I a horrible human being. Why should I have to suffer like that for a mistake that I regret fully?" Roderich was becoming noticeably agitated. The weary resignation in his eye was replaced by anger. When he spoke next he was practically shouting. "_Damn it. _Damn it all! Do I not deserve to be at least a little bit happy in my pathetic excuse for a fucking life? Every day I have to get up and be who everybody else wants me to be. I have to be the socialite for my mother. The artist for my peers. The caring friend for Elizaveta and Vash. The upright gentleman for the musical society. When is anyone going to ask me who _I _want to be, what I want to _do_ with my life? Then some Russian assholes waltz in here and demand me to give up the only thing that keeps me sane in the fucking sham of a life I live?"

By now he was panting with anger, his finely styled hair coming undone and flopping into his face. I was left speechless by the slip of his mask. Is it possible that I have misjudged Roderich Edelstein? It's no secret that I think he's a spineless fool, a dim socialite content in hiding behind his refinement and leaving an honest day's work to the lower echelons of society. To think that he felt inner torment and feelings of inadequacy troubled me. Because if we took away the attitude and the snobbery wouldn't that make Edelstein—no, Roderich—just like me?

The thought made me dizzy. To think as Roderich as a kindred spirit, as someone who felt ill at ease with their life. Well. That might mean I'd actually start having to like the guy. Hell, I was already respecting him enough to drop the jocular bullshit of calling him Edelstein.

Roderich stood up and pushed his hair back with his hands. "I need a drink," he muttered. As he shuffled down the hall all I could do is remain seated at a total loss as to what to do. Stopping abruptly, Roderich turned around and said impatiently, "well, are you going to join me or not?" Silently, I rose and followed him.

XxXxX

**[A/N I didn't get quite as far in this chapter as I had hoped : / All that fucking angst…. Ugh. I just got bogged down in it! *Sigh* Drama…. Ah, well. I suppose the plot has taken a big step forward in this chapter. There were some growing pains, as I'm sure you can tell DX I really hope that the plot isn't too confusing to anyone. **

**Questions, comments, and snide remarks always welcome.]**


	6. A change of pace

I followed Roderich to a room I had never been in before. It was clearly a library; the books gave it away. Shocking, I know.

In addition to the various shelves of books there were two overstuffed leather chairs and a long table underneath the set of three windows on the far wall. Roderich was already pouring himself a glass of amber liquid out of the crystal bottles that sat on the long table. As he turned to face me I could see he filled the cocktail glass to the brim. Damn. This guy was serious when he said he was going to have a drink. "Help yourself," he said, carelessly gesturing with the hand holding his glass. The liquid sloshed perilously close to the brim but Roderich didn't seem to notice.

I poured a drink from the same bottle, though not nearly as large as Roderich's. I sniffed the glass. It was scotch. I sat down in the chair across from Roderich. He was still brooding and peering into the ochre depths of his glass moodily. "I'm sure you can guess the rest," Roderich said. "How I stole my own piano." 

"I have a pretty good idea," I agreed. "You went out with Elizaveta for your alibi. She said you looked sick the whole time. You're bad at poker too, I recon." Roderich didn't laugh. I winced and continued. "You had Vash steal the piano while you were away. He picked the lock on the terrace and had some thugs help him load the piano into the trailer. The rest is common knowledge. You called the police and filed an insurance claim. The insurance was hesitant to cough up so you hired a private detective hoping that if I putzed around for two weeks and couldn't find anything else the insurance company would move to release the money."

"Nothing personal, Gilbert. I just needed someone. Someone preferably not too good at their job. Obviously I picked wrong." I didn't care for that statement or the indulgent look on his face. I'm pretty sure Roderich was at the point where he just couldn't give a fuck any more. But then again, maybe the near empty glass of scotch had a little to do with it. I watched Roderich kill his drink then stretch for the bottle, not bothering with something as cumbersome as standing up. He topped his glass off, same as before. Looking disapprovingly at the drink I was nursing he said, "come now, you expect me to believe that you can't drink better than that? I'll wager that you could drink me under the table any day of the week. This scotch has been sitting around since my father died. It's practically an antique! Isn't it perfect for celebrating my undoing?"

"Roderich, I'm not going to tell the police," I said while he forcibly filled my glass to the brim.

"You're…. not?" I had to grab the bottle and turn it upright before my glass overflowed. My hand overlapped his on the bottle. "Aw, I can't pay you off too!" Roderich said, yanking the bottle, and his hand, away.

"I know that and I don't expect you to." Aw dammit, I know better than to say what I'm about to say but I can't just abandon this case! "Let me deal with the Russian mob. Dammit, this is my case after all! Just because it's shifted focus doesn't mean I'm going to abandon it!"

"You're crazy," he said dismissively. "If you start messing around with the Russian mob they're going to shove your corpse into a _Sterilite_ container and dump it in a swamp."

"Hey, now," I said. "I can hold my own. And contrary to popular opinion," I said pointedly, "I'm not stupid. Have a little faith man!" Hmm… when did my glass become empty? Strange. Noticing my gaze, Roderich leaned over and filled my glass.

Roderich sat back and sighed. "Why do you want to help? You don't like me." It wasn't a question.

"You're an ok guy. When you're not being a posh bastard, that is." I expected him to get mad but instead he surprised me by laughing heartily.

"Ok, Gilbert. I'll leave it to you. Just please, don't get yourself killed. And don't get me killed for that matter! Or maimed. No maiming."

"Fair enough," I said, tilting my glass in his direction.

We sat in silence for awhile. Roderich was becoming undeniably tipsy. He was fiddling with the collar of his button up shirt and finally managed to pop the top buttons. He then threw repositioned himself so that he was sitting sideways in the arm chair, legs dangling off of the arm rest. He sighed contentedly and closed his eyes. "Do you know what my problem is?" he said, not waiting for an answer. "I make bad decisions. Little bad decisions at first. Then they just snowball out of control. I have absolutely no luck. I should stop doing everything. I think I'll even stop leaving my house. Elizaveta can do the shopping for me."

"Uh, Roderich, I think you've had enough."

"Tha's what I'm sayin'. I've had enough. It's time for some major changes in my life. I am not happy with how stuff is doing."

"No, I mean I think you've had enough to drink."

"Nonsense. I feel fine. Except I'm not fine. I'm empty." Roderich looked at me, surprised at his own words. "My glass I mean. Pfffff!" Oh, yes. He's definitely had enough. Obviously this guy doesn't drink very often. Mmph. And maybe I'm starting to feel it just a little, too. This is some strong scotch. But then again, it's top shelf stuff, not the cheap shit I usually get.

Oh, and there he goes. Reaching for the bottle of scotch. Luckily it's empty. Frowning, Roderich rolls off of the chair and walks over to the table. Oh, no. I probably shouldn't allow this to happen. He'll start puking if he keeps drinking straight liquor.

Dutifully getting off of my chair I came up to the table and placed my hand over Roddy's hand, effectively keeping him from picking the bottle up. "As your detective and your friend I advise you to quit while you're ahead. You said it yourself; you have shit-all luck."

Roderich turned so that he was facing me. We were quite close now. "Are we? Are we friends?" He asked. "Yes," I replied, a little surprised by my own answer. Roderich smiled, pleased at my response. His smile is sweet. I've never noticed that before. Is this the first time I've seen him smile?

I felt lost. For once I didn't know what I wanted. I felt strange knowing that I should do something about these feelings welling up in my chest but I didn't know how. I wasn't even sure I knew what these feelings were. _Try to make it simple, _I advised myself. _What is it that I want? I will clear my head and the first thing that comes to mind will be what I want._

Hell, the answer surprised me although I should have seen it coming. I am a great detective after all.

Leaning in even closer I felt a moment of fear. What if this isn't what Roderich wanted as well? Moment of truth. Time to put up or shut up. I closed my eyes as our lips connected. Roderich didn't pull away as I feared. Instead, he tilted his head so that his lips pressed harder against mine. After a moment Roderich pulled away, panting a little. I could smell the scotch strong on his breath.

Before I could say anything Roderich was throwing an arm around my neck and pulling me in for another kiss. He was reckless, pulling me in swiftly. Our lips crashed, teeth clicking together painfully. Still, neither of us backed away from the bruising kiss. Roderich moved his lips against mine slowly and sensually. I could taste the scotch on his breath now and I realized that maybe Roderich wasn't exactly in the state of mind to make these kinds of decisions. Reluctantly, I pulled away.

"You're drunk. I feel like I'm taking advantage of you." I was never one to beat around the bush after all.

"I'm not drunk," he replied. "Drunk is when you fall down on the ground and can't get back up. Either that or when you start puking everywhere. I'm jus' a little buzzed."

I noticed my hand was still overlapping his on the bottle. I let my hand fall away and widened the distance between us, though not enough for Roderich's arm to fall off of my shoulders. "How about we continue this later. Just to be absolutely sure, ok?" Roderich pouted a bit but nodded in agreement.

XxXxX

Roderich let me borrow his phone to call a taxi. I don't drink and drive. That's a pretty stupid asshole thing to do. I'm definitely cooler than that. Luckily, there was a taxi dropping its passengers off ten minutes away so I wouldn't have to wait long. I really wanted to get out of here before anything else happened. I wasn't sure how much I trusted myself to resist Roderich's advances.

Roderich lay sprawled on his couch lazily while we waited for the taxi. "I'd offer to play you a song on the practice piano the conservatory leant me while we wait but I think I would see more than eighty eight keys."

"That's ok. I'll take a rain check." There was a beeping outside. "I think the taxi is here," I said, getting up. Roderich rolled off of the couch, stumbled on the rug, and barely caught the floor lamp before it crashed into the wall. I—wow. I really don't know what to say about that.

When he was finished destroying his living room he walked me to the door. I turned around before opening the door. This is kind of awkward. I don't know what to say. "I, uh, I'll see you later?" I think Roderich understood my totally non-awkward and un-lame parting words. Or at least, he understood what I really meant. Chuckling a bit, he said "I hope so," before kissing me goodnight. The taxi honked impatiently. Giving me one last peck Roderich opened the door and I slipped out. Taking one last look before getting into the taxi I saw Roderich waving, his features made shadowy and indistinct by the strong light behind him. I waved back before ducking into the taxi. What a night.

XxXxX

When I got home Italy was waiting up for me. "Oh, hello, Gilbert. I didn't wanna go to bed without knowing that you were ok. You could have called you know. Oh, that reminds me, Luddy called. He's having a nice time at the police conference. Oh, and he's pissed 'cos he told you to be home in the evenings. I told him I didn't mind but you know how he is." Oh great. I'm not even in the door and I'm in trouble. It's like Ludwig and Feliciano were my fucking parents. Not cool, man. Not cool. If west even _attempts _to enforce this ridiculous curfew I'm going to jack him in the fucking jaw.

I shut the door and locked it before collapsing onto the couch. I rubbed my temples. "Later, Feli. Later. I've got a killer fucking headache."

"Oh!" He said jumping up. "Let me get you some aspirin and something to drink. Poor Gilbert." He bustled away.

A few minutes later he came back with some aspirin and a glass of water. "I put the kettle on for some tea." I murmured a thanks and took the pills. Feli sat there and smiled sympathetically. Pretty soon the kettle whistled and Feli jumped back up to take care of it. Lying on the couch with my arm thrown over my eyes I could hear Feli bustling in the kitchen.

"Italy," I called. "I have a question."

"What is it Gilbert?" 

"If I kissed a dude tonight does that mean I'm gay?"

"Hmm… well, did you like it? More than kissing a girl?"

"Yeah… I think I did."

"Well, then yes, it probably makes you gay. Who was it?" Italy came into the living room, beaming at me from the other side of the couch.

"It was my client. Don't tell West about this, ok?" Feli frowned but reluctantly agreed. Well, that was easy. That's what I liked about Feliciano. Everything was easy with him. Pretty much anyone else would be interrogating me about my new found gay-ness but Italy knew that I would talk about it if I wanted to talk about it. Or maybe I gave the guy too much credit and he was really just that much of a simpleton.

Either way I was going to down some tea and hit the fucking sack. I'm exhausted. I really am not used to getting up before noon.

XxXxX

"Ve~Gilbert! Wake up, sleepy head! No, don't you dare pull those covers over your head. Up, up, up!"

I groaned. "Feliciano, I swear on the lives of my unborn children that if you are getting me out of bed for anything less serious than a death, house fire, or world war I will strangle you with a lamp cord."

"Why do you have to say such scary things?" Italy said with a pout. Fine, fine. I'll get up. Whatever there is to do at nine in the morning that so many people are damned worried about I'll never know.

"Good, you're awake. Are you paying attention, Gil? I'm going to be gone all day. I'm going to go over my transcripts with my editor and then run some errands. I won't be here to make you food but there are leftovers in the fridge. You got all that?"

My jaw creaked as I yawned and stretched. "Huh? Your editor? What are you talking about?"

Italy sighed and shook his head. "My job, Gilbert. I translate technical manuals and direction manuals from Italian to English or vice versa."

"Your job? Really?" Huh. I didn't know Feli was employed. I just kinda figured he mooched off of West.

"You don't think I just mooch off of Ludwig, do you? It's boring work but it keeps my Italian good and sometimes the manuals are interesting. Like, this one time—"

"Yeah, ok. I'll see you later. I would hate for you to be late, Italy. You better get hopping."

"You're right. Bye Gilbert. Have a nice daaay!" with that he pranced right out of my room. I just don't know about that boy sometimes.

I debated going back to sleep but I figured I'd better give Romano a call while the better half of the Vargas brothers was away. I picked the card he had given me out of my sock drawer and padded out to the phone. The phone didn't ring long before a voice I recognized as Antonio answered. "Hey, this is Gilbert. Gilbert Beilschmidt? I need to talk to that bipolar fuck Romano."

"Well, ok," Toni said dubiously, "but I suggest you behave yourself. He has quite a temper you know." I heard Romano speaking angrily in the background as he and Toni scuffled with the phone. Finally he came on with a characteristically angry "Hello?"

"What the hell, Romano? I thought you wanted to make up with your brother. What was that the other night?"

Romano was silent for a moment. Finally he said, "I'm sending a car around to pick you up. I hate talking over the phone." 

"No! Romano, I don't have time to be making useless trips!" I could tell he had hung up on me mid sentence. Damn him. Doesn't anyone care what I want? Doesn't anyone ever attempt to make things easy on old Gilbert? The answer was no and it was really starting to piss me off.

I didn't have to wait long before a stupid fucking shady car pulled up in front of my apartment building. I grumbled as I locked my door. I grumbled as I walked down the stairs. I grumbled as I crossed the street. And I grumbled as I got into the car. But did anyone care? Nope.

"Hey there Gilbert! I thought I'd come too! Isn't that nice?" Antonio was beaming at me from the other back seat. The car started pulling away and I noticed again how damned shady this car was. No, literally! The windows were so heavily tinted that I couldn't see out—and I suppose people couldn't see some poor soul being dragged away to his doom either. Antonio chatted away steadily and I vaguely listened to him. Mostly because I had to. But he's not a bad guy. Perhaps a tad too happy to be alive, but a tad interesting none the less.

"Haha, but the thing is, there was no polite way for me to tell Joey she was a transvestite while still at the dinner table so in the end he just had to take one for the team."

"Hahaha, that's a good one, Toni. Hey, you wanna go out for a drink sometime? You're a pretty cool dude. We should be friends."

"Sure! How about this Saturday? Ever been to a place called _McGinty's?_"

"Fucking A I have!"

"Uh, sirs?" intercut the driver. "We're here." Oh, already? Ok. Back to being grumpy. Fuck you Romano! There we go. Getting my scowl on, I jumped out of the car and slammed the door. Toni led me to Romano's office. The man in question was sitting behind his desk furiously scribbling on a piece of paper while simultaneously scowling and shouting in Italian on the phone. Not even looking up or breaking his motions Romano gestured at the chair with his free hand. Damn. That is some serious multitasking.

Pretty soon Romano's shouting reached a frenzied crescendo. It really sounded like he was yelling made up things into the phone. He then reached his grand finale where he slammed down the phone, threw his pen across the desk, and simultaneously yelled at poor Toni.  
>"<em>Che palle<em>! Antonio can you actually believe this _cretino? _The fuck couldn't calculate interest to save his life. It's called a loan, not fucking charity! Do me a favor and break Marino's knee caps, ok?"

"You got it boss," Toni said mildly. Oh shit. Sometimes I forget that Toni's crazy too. Romano just seemed to notice me. "Oh, yeah. You."

"Yeah, me. Let's cut to the chase, shall we? I'm confused. Normally when you want to make amends with someone you don't shout homosexual slurs at them and hang up the phone. It's just not the kind of message that screams 'forgiveness,' if you know what I mean."

Romano sulked in his chair, clearly having no retort to my totally awesome and valid point. "Well, I panicked," he said. "So you'll just have to fix it. It shouldn't be a problem to get Feliciano to apologize again. And I promise I'll be cool this time."

"What? Not a problem? Dammit, I did what you wanted and you fucked it up. That's _your _problem. I fulfilled my end of the bargain." I huffed and crossed my arms. Still not my problem motherfucker.

Romano was turning visibly red. He looked like a tomato getting ready to burst. I could see Toni leaning on the wall behind Romano. He was biting his lip and knitting his eyebrows. I can't help it! I'm not going to walk on egg shells around this touchy prick just because he has fucking issues. I got issues. Hell, I kissed another man last night. If that doesn't give you a head spin I don't know what does.

Ok. My point here is that I have bigger fish to fry than a pint sized Mafioso with a Napoleon complex.

"Your assignment was to reconcile my brother and I. So shut your fucking mouth and do it. Go ahead. Argue with me again. I'm this fucking close to losing my temper."

"Fine, fine," I relented. What else could I do? Arguing with this prick is like shoveling shit with a garden trowel. It takes too long, makes absolutely no fucking sense, and it could possibly end with you getting decapitated by the Italian mob.

Romano sat back, temporarily satisfied by getting his way. But dammit, if he was getting his way then the least he could do is give me some mob advice.

"Dammit, Romano, if you're getting your way then the least you can do is give me some mob advice."

"Mob advice? Why, who'd you piss off now?"

I ignored the jab. Yeah, yeah. I get it. I'm extremely unlikeable. Hardee-har-har. Remind me to call up Jay Leno and see if we can get you a booking.

"I have this friend who's gotten on the bad side of extortion courtesy of the Russian mob. He can't pay it. Any ideas on what I should do?"

"Sure. I've got an idea. Stand as far as fucking possible away from him so that when the Russians come to chop his head off you won't get blood on your shirt."

"C'mon Vargas. This is a serious question here. Help me out," I begged. Yes, I begged. As much as it killed me to do it I knew that Vargas had more intel and experience than I had in these matters.

"Well, it's hard to tell Gilbert. I guess it just depends on who he's rubbed the wrong way. If he's pissed off Ivan then he's probably dead. If he's pissed off Natalia then he's _definitely _dead. Ivan likes to pretend that he runs the joint but really Natalia does the business and makes the bank. The only thing I can suggest is that you pray it's Ivan your friend has pissed off. If so, go to Natalia and convince her to spare him. I hear she's a sucker for flattery. She likes to try and make Ivan jealous with her male friends. They're brother and sister, you know." Romano shook his head. "Crazy fucking Russians."

"Ok. Thanks, Romano. I'll fix things up between you and Ita-uh, Feliciano. It may take a couple of days, though. I don't mean to be a dick about it, but I really have shit to do. Are we done talking?" Romano waved his hands dismissively and ordered Toni to ready the car. Romano and I sat in awkward silence until Toni returned. "Ok, Gilbert. Car's here. Let's go!"

"No, no," interjected Romano. "You're staying here, Antonio. I've got a to-do list a mile long and I can't spare you to hold this _briccone's _fucking hand." Toni visibly wilted. I'm telling you, he's like a dog who's always trying to jump in the car. I can't tell if he's trying to run away from his master or if he just likes holding his head out of the fucking window. Somehow, sadly, I think it's the latter. 

"Ok, boss," Toni said sadly. "Well, I guess I'll just see you Saturday, Gil."

As I closed the door behind me I heard Romano explode. "_Cacchio! _What do you mean 'I'll see you Saturday?' So help me _malandrino,_ you better have one hell of an explanation." I couldn't hear poor Toni's response but by the sound of his voice he was backpedalling like mad. I was half convinced that I should go back in there before a homicide occurred but the Italian driver was looking at me curiously from down the hall. "Ready to go, sir?" I let my hand fall off of the handle. Toni should be ok, right? I mean, why would Romano care what his body guard did on his Saturday night off? "Uh, yeah. I'm ready."

XxXxX

I had the driver drop me off at Roderich's house. Not only did I have to get the number the extortionists had given Roderich but my car was at his house as well. Because I had been there last night. Kissing him. Yeah, I'm not quite sure what to say about that either. I dunno, I tend to take things as they come. I'm just planning on playing this deck as the cards are delt. What else can I do?

I absentmindedly thanked the driver for the ride then walked up the path to Roderich's door. After I rung the bell I didn't wait long. Roderich smiled when he saw it was me at the door. "Hello," I said shyly. Get it together, man! Gather your manliness. Pretend you're the Old Spice Guy or Chuck Norris or something! "How are you this morning?" I tried again. Ok, better, but I still have no clue how things are between him and I.

"Why don't you come in," Roderich said, still smiling. I followed him into his increasingly familiar living room. "Care for some coffee? We can have it in the kitchen." I nodded.

We sat at his kitchen table and Roderich poured us both a cup of coffee. "Elizaveta called this morning. She complained about you again. What on earth did you do to get her so riled up?"

"I guess it just must be my magnetic personality. She's just not used to being dazzled by someone so awesome."

Roderich snorted as he stirred his coffee. "Somehow I think Elizaveta would have a different opinion." We sat in silence for a couple of minutes. I should say something, anything, to break this awkward silence but I've got nothing. Roderich felt it too, I think, last night hanging over us and the questions we now faced. This is killing me. I hate beating around the bush. "Um, about last night…" Roderich looked up, the pained expression on his face betraying his surprise. He flushed heavily. He was used to discretion, to dainty parlour room talk, hushed conversations even. But to just address the issue badly rattled him.

"I was drunk, you were drunk. It was just…"

"I wasn't drunk," I interjected. "Drunk is when you fall down on the ground and can't get back up. Either that or when you start puking everywhere," I joked, referring back to the excuse he had given last night. Roderich was being nice, trying to give me an out. But I didn't want it. I just badly hoped he wasn't trying to find an out himself.

Unsurprisingly, Roderich didn't even crack a smile at my half hearted joking. He seemed to be contemplating something so I decided to keep my mouth shut. And if my stomach felt a little fluttery then it must be the caffeine, right? Yeah. Right.

Finally, finally, he spoke. "Could we really…. make this work do you think?" Roderich's face was dead serious. Half of me wanted to cut up—to lighten the situation. I don't like it when things get too deep. 'Why so serious' and all, right? The other half of me, the half that wanted this to work, told me to act like a fucking adult and be mindful of Roderich's feelings.

"I think…. I think we should give it a try. If you're willing to, that is." My serious side won out. Mostly because I don't want to share Roderich with anyone. Is that selfish of me? Perhaps. Do I care? Fuck no. Especially if I get what I want.

"I'd like that, Gilbert. I really think I would." He finally smiled at me. And it was beautiful.

What the fuck am I doing with my life? I don't know. But somehow I feel like I've been taking a step in the right direction lately.

**[A/N Translations: che palle—what bullshit!**

**Cretino—retard, someone who you consider among the dumbest fucks on the planet**

**Briccone—asshole (rascal)**

**Caccio—fucking A! (what the hell!)**

**Maladrino—a fuck-off**

**Many, many thanks to the lovely ****ykwyh26 ****for providing me with a selection of wonderful Italian curse phrases :D Oh, yes. I will be having fun with those :D :D **

**Lastly, I find it prudent to mention that the characters in my story ARE NOT good role models. Please, people, it is not a good idea to drink, smoke, commit insurance fraud, associate with the mob, anger the mob, plagiarize, shout homophobic slurs, or sell your friends out to the mob. **

**Double lastly, I hate myself for how awkward Gil and Roddy's romance is. Forgive me. **

**Please review and thanks for reading!]**


	7. A slow day at the office

"Here's the card they gave me," Roderich said. "It's just got a number and a name. Ivan."

Ivan. Ok. We can deal with this. Woo the sister, right? A little flattery here and there, a couple of well placed remarks…. I could do this. I mean just look at me. I'm one good looking, awesome, son of a bitch. Suave as all get the hell out. This bitch ain't gonna know what hit her. She'll be a puddle at my feet. She'll chase me down the street, forlorn. 'Gilbert, you smexy piece of man you, don't go!'

Hmmm… On second thought, this might be a little hard to explain to Roderich. I mean we were to-t-t-_together_ now. And all that.

Ok, here's the plan. I'm still going to knock this chick's socks off but I'm definitely not going to tell Roderich about it. I just cannot see that ending well for me.

Resolved, I took the card from Roderich and glanced at it. Plain white business card. Just the name Ivan and a phone number. Well, I guess I should call the number and request a meeting. The hard part was going to be getting at the sister. Somehow, I don't think it's going to be easy. I mean, you just can't waltz into a place filled with angry Russians and demand to see their leader. Not if you want your face to look the same going out as it did when you came in.

What do I know about Russians, I mused. They like vodka. They come from Russia. The whole country has been tangling with socialism for a long time. It's cold in Russia all of the time so they wear furry hats. Russian chicks have big jugs. Russian men are burly and mean and make their women chop wood.

Ok, I just realize that the extent of my knowledge of Russia has been derived from bad pornos and shitty movies.

Roderich was looking at me curiously now and I realized that I'd probably been staring at this business card for quite some time. "I'm going to call up this Ivan fellow and try to set up a meeting. I'll talk to him. See if we can't come to some sort of middle ground."

"Gilbert, I don't like the sound of this," Roderich said, frowning. He really did look worried. "I know you told me that you can handle it but frankly, I have doubts. I mean, this is a mob that we're dealing with. They are dangerous!"

"Don't worry, Roddy. I'm just going to talk with them. I'll be careful. I won't say anything to anger them." Ok, I really shouldn't promise that because more than likely I will but he doesn't need to know that. Roderich didn't look convinced but he grudgingly agreed.

Roderich walked me to the door, rubbing his temples. "I think I'm going to go lie down now. I don't feel so well this morning." I grinned. "That wouldn't have anything to do with an empty bottle of scotch in the library, would it?" Roderich flinched like someone had hit him. "Don't mention the S word ever again. Ugh." I decided to skip the I told you so's.

Roderich paused, his hand on the door knob. "Ah, did you want to, maybe, if you're not busy, um, do something this Friday?" Roderich's eyes flitted nervously around, not quite daring to hold my gaze for more than a second. Oh sure, he can play complicated piano pieces in front of hundreds of people. He can brazenly steal credit away from a dead man. He can orchestrate a plan to rip off an insurance company. But when it comes to asking someone on a date Roderich was lost. He's so damned repressed. It's kinda cute, actually.

"Sure. I'd like that. Let's go out for dinner. How bout I pick you up at six?"

"Ok," he replied, clearly relieved. He finally looked at me and smiled a bit.

My devilish side is starting to kick up. I can't help but to walk a little too close to Roderich as I pass him on my way out the door. I stop just as I pass him, as if on an afterthought. Turning around slightly I give him an easy smile and say huskily, "then I guess I'll see you Friday, Roderich." He's trying to keep control of himself, to not let his eyes widen or his breath quicken. Roderich holds out well, not even stuttering when he replies, "yeah." But he can't control the shaky breath that exits his lips.

_Damn, I got him good, _I thought as I walked towards my car. Firstly, can I just say that I've still got it baby! Secondly, I love to watch Roderich come undone. I'm thinking I'm going to enjoy rattling his posh, upright behavior whenever I can. But not in a mean way, mind you. Just… playful like.

I love a good challenge.

XxXxX

The first thing I did when I got home was heat up some food. Damn, I'm hungry. I haven't eaten all day. It's so weird coming home to a full fridge. I'm a man. I don't have time to buy food. I'm always too busy drinking or fucking or wrestling bears to go to some pussy ass grocery store. I mean really, who even drinks milk these days? Domesticated people, I guess. Well, I'm not complaining as I pour a glass of milk to go along with the tuna casserole I'm throwing in the microwave.

I ate my meal right out of the Tupperware container. No need to dirty dishes unnecessarily. That's another thing. I hate doing dishes. I'll wait until there are literally none left in the cupboard before I'll even think of touching them. This has lead to some rather creative uses of kitchen utensils. For example—have you ever ate ice cream with chopsticks? I have. It's actually not as hard as you'd think. I've eaten a whole meal with two knifes because there were no clean forks. That's actually unnecessarily hard.

Fuck dishes, man. That's what I'm saying.

XxXxX

After I was done eating I flopped down on my office chair. I held the card in my hand. Time to call Ivan. I should probably pick up the phone and dial the number.

Yeah. now.

Ok, anytime here, Gilbert.

Aaaaand go!

Ok, so can you blame me for procrastinating? I mean, who the hell are we kidding? This is going to go horribly. When you mix crazy fucking Russians and my bad attitude we're talking catastrophe. C'mon. Don't dick me around. You know I'm going to get myself into some bad shit here. It's sort of inevitable. I just hope I can get myself back out again.

Ah, well. No sense in drawing this out. I picked up the phone and dialed the number. _Ring… ring… ring… ring… ring… ri-_"Hallo?"

"Um, yes. Is Ivan in?"

There was silence on the other end of the line. Finally, the man spoke again. "Who is this?" he had just the tiniest trace of an accent.

"I'm calling on behalf of Roderich Edelstein. I would like to talk to Ivan."

"Wait one minute." After a few moments the same man came back on the line. "When can we pick up the money?"

"There isn't going to be any money unless I can have a meeting with Ivan to negotiate the terms."

"Negotiations? Comrade, we are not equals in this situation. WE call the shots."

"Here's the deal, bud. Either Ivan agrees to meet me and negotiate or we won't pay. If we don't pay then, yeah, sure, you kill Edelstein. Big fucking deal. You gain nothing and have a big fucking mess to deal with. I'll call back in five minutes. Have Ivan's answer ready." I hung up the phone. Damn, this is intense.

As you can probably guess, it _would _be a big fucking deal if they killed Roderich but they didn't know that. Ok, here's my angle. I'm going to act as Roderich's negotiator. He's nothing to me but a client. We have no personal ties. If he gets wasted by the Russians it's no skin off of my back. That puts me in a position of power. They can't strong arm me if this is just a job to me.

Trust me, when I call back they'll agree to meet. That's the easy part. Getting to the sister, on the other hand, that's going to take some serious maneuvering. I have no idea what to expect from them. How am I supposed to come up with a completely awesome plan if I'm going into this blind? I couldn't even ask Francis for information. The Russian mob doesn't associate with outsiders. The information on them is virtually nonexistent. I'm lucky I got what I did out of Vargas.

I picked up the phone again and punched in the numbers. It rang only once before I heard it pick up.

"Well?" 

"The Joker. The restaurant on South Kings lane. Meet us there tomorrow evening at seven." The phone line clicked off. I sat the phone down on my desk.

For better or for worse, the game was afoot.

XxXxX

Well, I couldn't do anything more today for my cases so I decided to take that nap. Yes, I finally decided to take the nap I started four fucking days ago. It was long overdue and much deserved. It was perfect. I let down the shutters in my room and climbed into my cool bed. The sheets smelled good since Italy had done laundry yesterday. I was finally going to get a chance to go to bed not drunk, battered, or harassed.

I curled up with my pillow and let out a sigh of contentment. Oh, yes. Nothing more relaxing than a siesta. I'm just going to forget everything. Vargas who? What Russian mob? Who stole a what now? And so help me, if anything disturbs me I'm going to shank somebody.

I felt all warm and cozy and drowsy. My eyelids felt like they weighed fifty pounds each. I just let them close. No use fighting it.

XxXxX

I yawned as my eye lids fluttered open. Evening light was leaking through the blinds and making slats on my bed sheets. I could hear the soft clatter of Italy clinking dishes in the kitchen. Ah, yes. What a refreshing nap. Stretching as I detangled myself from the sheets and walked towards the bedroom door, I felt in a terrific mood. I felt even better once I opened the door and smelled dinner. Oh, yes. This is living.

"Oh, hullo, sleepyhead," Italy said as he took potatoes out of the oven with a blue oven mitt, "I was just going to wake you. Dinner is ready. Didja have a nice nap?"

I nodded and yawned again. I'm just surprised that I could nap properly. Honestly, I expected the phone to ring or Italy to come bursting in or the apartment to catch fire while I was sleeping. Anything to ruin my day.

While we were piling food on our plates Italy paused, serving spoon midair. "Oh, yes. While you were sleeping some men came and delivered two crates. They have German written on the side. They're by your desk." Fuckin' A. Must be my beer. Maybe I could forgive Francis now. _Maybe._

"Awesome. It's two crates of fucking amazing German beer. You can have some if you want."

Italy wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "No, thanks. Ludwig drinks that stuff sometimes. And he drinks it warm. Ewwww! I don't drink anyways."

"What do you mean you don't drink. You drink _every day."_

Italy looked confused. "What? No I don't."

"Yes, you do," I insisted. "You're drinking right now." I motioned towards the glass of red wine he was holding in his left hand.

"What? Wine isn't drinking. It's good for your heart."

"Doesn't matter, still counts."

"Does not," he retorted. "Not for us Italians, at least." I just shrugged. I'm not going to argue with the guy here. It's not my problem if he's a functioning alcoholic. But at least he's a functioning alcoholic with a really healthy heart, right?

XxXxX

After dinner I was lounging on the couch completely ignoring some stupid movie and drinking beer. And yes, I was drinking it warm. That's the only way you _can _drink good German beer. To put it on ice would be a blasphemy. "Ve~Gilbert! Ludwig is on the phone. He wants to talk to you since you're home for once!" Argh. Is it too late to jump out of the window? Maybe I can slip out the front door and…. No, Italy will totally rat me out.

Frowning, I took the phone from that smiling idiot and said hello tiredly into the phone. "Gilbert, are you treating Feliciano good?"

"Why?" I asked angrily, "has he been bitching or something?"

"No, but you know how he is. You'd have to make him cry before he'd say anything." I remained silent. Because, uh, technically I _had_ made him cry. "Anyways," West went on, oblivious to my guilty silence, "Feli seems to be doing good so thanks, I guess. I've only got two complaints." Oh, only two? Joy…. That's about three more than I wanted to hear.

"First, I've called a couple of times in the evening and you haven't been home. Can you please try better in the future? I just worry about him being home alone in the dark. Secondly, sleeping on your couch is giving Feli a backache. Can you let him sleep in your bed a night or two?" 

"Wha? But that's where I sleep," I said stupidly. I mean, come on here, I was doing West a favor by letting Feli crash here in the first place and now he wants me to give him my bed? What's next, the shirt off of my back? I'm telling you, it wouldn't fit him anyways!

"Yes," West said patiently, using his 'Gilbert-is-acting-like-a-child' voice that I abhor. "But I was thinking you could take the couch. Obviously I don't want you two sleeping in the same bed." This struck me as funny. After all, I do seem to be into men these days. Luckily, West couldn't see me smiling through the phone. "Besides," West continued. "You owe him for all the cleaning and cooking he's been doing for you lately."

"Fine, fine," I relented, not happy. "But _only _since Feli's cooking is so good." West sighed, happy that the ordeal was settled. I asked him if he wanted to talk to Feli again but he declined. He was just getting ready to head down to a late dinner. I said my goodbye and hung up the phone. 

"Ve~Gilbert?" I heard Italy calling.

"What?" I yelled back, reluctant to get up from the couch.

"I'd just thought you'd like to know that the little birdie's eggs have hatched."

What? Are we speaking in code or something? Am I supposed to reply back in code? Might as well give it a try.

"Yes, but the orchestra isn't ready to play the foxtrot so we have to wait until the condor is ready to swoop"

Italy came power walking into the living room. "What?" he said curiously, standing in front of me with his fists on his hips and a bemused grin on his face.

"What." I replied back. He started it after all.

Italy shook his head, as if to clear away the nonsense going on. "Did you hear me? The little birdie's eggs have hatched." 

"I don't know what that means. Is it some kind of euphemism?"

"Eupha-what? Nevermind, don't you want to come see?"

"See _what? _You're just talking in circles."

"You know that little yellow bird that hangs around outside your windows? The one who made a nest in the window ledge in your bedroom?"

"No," I said blankly. I've never seen any birds hanging around.

"You_ have_ to know what I'm talking about. I see it flying by the windows all of the time! It even taps on the glass sometimes. It has a big, cozy nest on your window ledge and its eggs have hatched! There's little chicklets!"

"I'll take your word for it," I said, turning back to my movie. I've lived here for quite a long time and I've never seen no damned bird hanging around, especially on my windowsill. I'd have to talk to West about this kid when he gets home. Italy might have a brain tumor or something. Seriously, that would explain a lot. Oh, speaking of being messed up mentally, I'm supposed to be reconciling the Vargas brothers.

"Why don't you sit down for a bit, Feli. We can talk." I picked up the remote and switched the T.V. off. 

"Ok," he said, mildly surprised. He sat down next to me. "What did you want to talk about? Your boyfriend, maybe?"

I opened my mouth to say that Roderich wasn't my boyfriend but then I shut it. Because he kinda was. "Well, why don't you go first? I know you still feel bad about what happened with Romano the other night. I feel bad about pushing you to call him. How about we talk about that?"

Italy looked upset. He bit his lip and shook his head. "Uh uh. I don't wanna talk about that."

"C'mon. You know you'll feel better if you talk about it. If you talk about it I'll tell you about my, uh, sorta-boyfriend." I could tell Italy was weighing my offer. On the one hand, he really didn't want to talk about Romano. I don't blame him. On the other hand, he was curious about my, uh, about what happened between me and Roderich. Finally, Italy seemed to come to a decision. "When I talked to Romano he called me a _frocio._ That is a hurtful way to refer to homosexuals in Rome. Even after I apologized. Even after I said I was sorry for something I'm not. I'm not sorry I love Ludwig. I'm sorry that it caused problems between Romano and me. I know it isn't the lifestyle Romano would choose for me but why can't he respect what I want? I can't help who I am or who I love. If my brother truly cared for me he would understand. He would love me no matter what. Obviously, he doesn't and there is nothing I can do to change that. He's finally burned the bridge with his anger and hate. I'm done with him. Forever."

"Oh, come on," I said nervously. "That's a harsh thing to say. I'm sure that you'll reconcile. Probably sooner than you think."

"No, Gilbert. We won't. And I'm ok with that. Romano doesn't deserve my love and forgiveness. He's mean and spiteful and controlling. I don't want to talk about this anymore. Romano might as well be dead to me for all it matters." Again, Italy had that funny look on his face. The one of hard resolve and blunt anger. It didn't suit his normally soft features. I could tell the issue was closed for now. Anything more I said would just anger and upset him.

I sighed roughly and ran a hand through my hair. How am I going to fix this now? Italy took my gesture as frustration at my own blunder. "Don't beat yourself up about it, Gil. There's no way you could have known that encouraging me to call my brother would have ended like that. You had good intentions." He smiled at me encouragingly, as if to punctuate his forgiveness. Italy thought I had good intentions. Wow does that make me feel like a cur. "So go ahead," Italy said brightly. "Tell me about this new guy. I'm dying to know!"

"Ah, well," I began, embarrassed by the whole thing. "His name is Roderich. He's my client. I'm trying to find his missing piano. I dunno, I didn't like him at first but then something changed. I saw him different, I guess. I kissed him the other night. Hell, it surprised me. I didn't even know I was into that kind of thing. We're going out on a date on Friday. That's it. Nothing else to tell."

Feli was beaming. "Oh~" he squealed. "That is soooo exiting! What are you going to wear on your date?"

"I dunno," I said, perplexed. "I don't, uh, usually _plan _what I'm going to wear. I just grab some stuff out of the closet and go." Ok, I may be gay but that doesn't mean I've developed a sense of fashion over night. Feli rolled his eyes dramatically. "Oh Gilbert. How typical of you. You need to plan these sorts of things. Have you decided where you'll take him?"

"No," I said slowly. "He asked _me_ out. Doesn't that mean he has to pick?" Italy shook his head slowly and with plenty of exasperation. "Gilbert, Gilbert, Gilbert. There's still so much for you to learn. Here, I'll help you out. I'll pick your clothes out for you and you pick the restaurant. Make it someplace nice."

"Ok," I said slowly. I didn't realize how much effort had to go into these kinds of things. It's a good thing I have Italy here to help me. I don't doubt what he's telling me for a moment. He's the one that's good at stuff like this.

Feliciano hummed happily and chattered on a bit about what him and Ludwig usually do for dates. He was getting a bit carried away. And a bit too detailed.

"Hey!" I interjected. "Just stop right there. I don't need to know about what you guys do _after_ the date." Italy giggled shyly. "I'm sorry. I got a bit carried away. I just love romance. Isn't it just so exiting?"

"I guess so," I agreed dubiously. Sounded like a lot of work to me.

XxXxX

Later, once I was laying on the couch in the living room (Damn, I didn't realize how uncomfortable this thing was until now!) I thought about my cases. I couldn't decide which one was harder. Dealing with the Russians was going to be tricky and dangerous. However, dealing with the Vargas brothers is equally tricky and uncomfortably personal. Basically, whatever the outcome of the Vargas brothers is it will affect my life and Ludwig and Feli's. It's a lot of pressure, I'm telling you.

I shifted on the couch in an attempt to be more comfortable. It didn't work much. And then there's Roderich. I don't know what to do with that. It all seemed to move so fast. I realized that I hardly knew the guy. I mean, yes, I do know him. But I don't _know _him, if you know what I mean. Yes, I am drawn to him, but is that enough to be the basis of a relationship? I'm going to be honest; I'm not the easiest person to get to know. What if I fuck this up? What if I hurt him?

The thought made me feel rather ill. I really don't want to hurt him. It's not fair of me to still be unsure of myself around him. I guess it was still too early to tell. Still, I wish I knew.

_Well, ya can't know_, I thought angrily, turning over on my side, comfort evading me on this damned lumpy couch._ So why don't you just shut the hell up and go to sleep?_

Ugh. I would that I could. But if my racing thoughts didn't impede my sleep this lumpy couch sure would.

Sigh. Good thing I'd had a nap today, I thought morosely.

XxXxX

**[A/N Sooooo. Yeah. I know this chapter was kinda slow but I just didn't want to skip a whole day just because there was nothing exiting for Gilbert to do. Anyways, as always, please review!**

**Oh, also, I put out two Roderich/Gilbert one shot fanfics this week if you'd like to check them out. As a warning, they're rated a hard M.]**


	8. Stylish!

"_Gilbert Beilschmidt, where do you think you're going?" _I froze in my tracks out of surprise. Did that booming, disgustingly disapproving voice really come from Feliciano? Looking over my shoulder slowly, I could see him standing in the arch way leading to the kitchen, hands on his hips.

"Uh, I'm going to dinner. With a client," I said, semi-lying. I really don't see what the problem is.

"And you're going to wear _that?_" This? I looked down at my clothes. What's wrong with this?

"What do you mean? This is fine."

"Gilbert, you're wearing dark grey slacks, black shoes, black shirt, and a red tie."

"Ye-es," I said slowly. I still don't see a problem here.

"You look like a confused hobo. Go to your room and take those pants off!" Italy stormed in the direction of my room. I—what is happening here? It's not every day when your brother's boyfriend tells you to go to your room and remove your pants. Still paused deciding what the hell I should do, Italy yelled "Get in here!" Reluctantly, I went.

Feliciano was holding up a pair of black slacks from my dresser, examining them with a frown. "No good. If you wear all black you'll just look like Johnny Cash."

"What's wrong with Johnny Cash," I asked.

"He was a polygamist, wasn't he?" Italy remarked, throwing the black pants at me. "Here, put these on and take off the shirt." He went on rummaging in my dresser. I was reluctant to start changing. That whole 'getting naked in front of my brother's boyfriend' thing again.

I don't think I'm being unreasonable here.

Italy opened the door to my closet glancing back at me swiftly. "Oh, for heaven's sake, Gilbert. Just change your pants. I promise I'm not eyeing you up." Wow. Feliciano gets pretty bitchy and demanding when fashion is involved. I changed my pants like he told me too. Boy, am I glad I chose to wear underwear today. Yeah, that's right. I don't always wear underwear. So what? Don't knock it before you try it.

While I was buckling my belt Italy held two shirts up to my chest. One was white and the other was blue. Frowning, his eyes shifted from one shirt to the other for several seconds before he threw the blue one on my bed. "Here. Wear this one. Please tell me you have a navy tie." He might have been asking a question but Italy definitely didn't expect a response. He was rummaging through my closet again. With a quick "Ah ha!" he pulled out a navy tie. Italy threw the tie around my neck and began whipping it around. Pretty soon his deft fingers forced the tie into submission. "This is a skinny tie. Interesting. Bet you didn't even notice when you were buying it. Well, I'm tying it into a four-in-hand knot. I think this is actually going to look better on you than a regular tie and a Windsor knot."

I love how he actually thinks I know what he's talking about. All I heard was 'tie.' The rest could have been Portuguese for all it meant to me. I didn't even know they made different thickness ties. I looked down at my tie. It didn't look different or special to me.

Stepping back and eyeing me critically, Italy made a pensive sound. I resisted the urge to pull at my collar self-consciously. Finally, he turned his serious eyes to me and said, "yes, Gilbert. You look darn good." He smile returned and he seemed more relaxed yet somehow less here, mentally speaking. The Italy I knew was back. "Ve~Have fun at your meeting!"

Shutting the front door behind me, I let out a deep breath. I don't think I've ever seen Italy look so intense about something before. It was quite weird. I'd have to mention this to West.

XxXxX

The Joker was definitely not how I imagined it. I'm not sure what I expected. Something a little more…. Old world-ey. Something with dirty windows and a rough brick exterior. It would be ill lit inside to hide the dirt and to cut down on the electric bill. The patrons? Of course they would all be burly men with crazy assed beards. I'd open the door and the evening light would spill in. the restaurant would go quiet and everyone would look at the intrusion. And then I'd be in for it.

Instead, the exterior of The Joker was whitewashed with manicured ivy growing carefully up the walls. _The Joker _was written on the large window in front, a minimalist figure juggling an apple, a withered hand, and a dagger was drawn underneath the spindly lettering. I don't think I'll ever understand humanity.

Resigning myself to the fate of having a crazy meeting with a crazy person in a crazy restaurant, I pushed open the door and entered. The place was mostly empty so it was pretty easy to pick Braginski out.

He was sitting there staring at the door with a vacant smile on his face. He must have been waiting for me. Intently. That's creepy. But I can't let this guy rattle me. I'm just going to stride in like a boss and grab this meeting by the horns. After all, I don't take no bullshit from anybody!

"Mister Braginski?" I said, offering my hand, real professional like. Braginski frowned at my hand a moment before reluctantly shaking it. His hand was dry and cool, sort of limp in mine. Gesturing towards the table Braginski himself sat back down and readjusted the scarf that was around his neck. What's up with that anyways? It was one of those flowey deals. The kind those people nobody likes wears. Oh, what do they call them? Oh yeah. Hipsters.

"So," Braginski begain, finally turning his attention away from his scarf. "First we drink." As if on cue, a waitress brought walked out of the kitchen area with a tray on her shoulder. I had to do a double take because…. Well. Ok. To put it politely, this young lady is probably going to have some serious lower back issues later in life. To be blunt, each of her tits is the size of my fucking head.

Luckily, neither Braginski nor the waitress seemed to notice my internal struggle to tear my eyes away from her breasts. It's not like I _wanted_ to look at them… it's just that I couldn't _not _look at them. No, seriously, when she bent over to place the drink in front of Braginski I'm pretty sure that her tits took up 90 percent of my range of vision. Finally, the waitress walked away and I was able to think straight again. I looked at the drink. She had brought a glass of beer and a shot of whisky. Well, ok then.

"Mister Beilschmidt, can I call you Gilbert? Ok," Braginski said with a giggle, "I only do business with friends. And in my family the way you show friendship is having a drink together. In my father's day they would drink a whole glass of vodka but most people don't like that. We'll do a World War II instead." Seeing the what-the-fuck expression on my face Braginski clarified. "A World War II is a bomb drink that me and my sister came up with. It's a shot of vodka dropped into a glass of beer. Then you chug it. World War II, get it? Cos you're dropping a shot of vodka into a beer and Germany and Russia fought during the war?" He giggled softly again before picking up his shot of vodka. Mirroring his actions, I picked up mine as well. When in Rome, as they say.

Personally, I think bombs are douchebag drinks. Why can't you just do shots and drink beer like normal people? Why are you in such a rush that you have to do them at the exact same time? I swear, people just don't know how to drink. Drinking is a marathon, not a sprint. The goal is not to get as plastered as possible as early in the evening as you can manage. No, you start off drinking and talking with your friends then you progress to the buzzed state. That's when you meet new people and socialize more with your friends. Then sometime after midnight is when you get totally blitzed. That's when it gets iffy. Once you get fully tanked it can go south pretty quickly. What I'm trying to say is that don't rush it, man.

But I did the bomb none the less. Because I'm a man like that. Braginski finished the drink and placed the glass down with a solid _thunk _and an "aaahh." I placed my empty glass down as well and nodded towards Braginski.

"To be blunt, Gilbert, I would have never agreed to see you. When you called I was not in so my employee asked my big sister instead. She agreed to the meeting without asking me. That is the only reason I came."

"Well, I'm glad to have the chance to talk with you," I said diplomatically. By now I noticed that Braginski didn't have even a trace of an accent. How disappointing. I don't know how I'm going to take him seriously now.

Braginski giggled again, his hand held up in front of his face shyly. "I don't think we have anything to say to each other. I'm surprised Edelstein would even hire someone like you. I really thought he'd be so afraid he would give the money up right away. Perhaps this means he wants a fight?" Even though Braginski was smiling affably the warmth didn't reach his eyes. His face is actually quite alarming if you really look at it. His voice and mannerisms are shy and so far I haven't seen him do anything but smile disarmingly, but it was just a little forced, just a little unnatural. I think it's his eyes that bother me, mostly. They're wide and glassy. There's something missing from them.

"No, Roderich Edelstein is just concerned because he doesn't have the kind of money you are asking for."

"Oh, don't bullshit me. Why wouldn't he have money? He comes from a privileged family and has a booming career. You cannot expect me to believe he is broke after seeing his large estate? Besides, if he really didn't have money how could he afford to hire a middleman?"

"How could he not?" I interjected smoothly. "Edelstein doesn't have the experience necessary to deal with this…. Difficult situation. Frankly, he's out of his league, in more ways than one. I've personally reviewed his finances and I can vouch that he doesn't have the means to pay you. He has a bit of a gambling problem, you see." Don't know where that came from but I'm just going to roll with it. "Plus, he has to pay a pretty hefty alimony to his bitch of an ex wife." Hey, every good lie has little shards of truth embedded throughout.

Braginski shrugged indifferently. "Not my problem. I think we're done here, Gilbert. You can go back and tell Roderich Edelstein that if he doesn't have my money then I'll make him disappear. At this point I really don't even care if I get the money. I'll kill him just off of principle. What's one more stain in the trunk of my car?" He spoke with no emotion. We could have been discussing the weather for all the difference it would have made. Now I realize what it is about his eyes that bother me. They lack empathy. They sit in his skull, like two marbles pressed wetly into pliable dough. It sent a fucking chill up my spine.

"Can't I talk this over with Natalia?" I asked. I hesitated to pull my trump card because there was no way to anticipate his reaction. Braginski, who had been pushing the beer glass across the table with the tip of his fingers, froze. Looking me intently in the eye he said, "there's nothing for my sister and you to discuss. This is between Roderich Edelstein and me. You don't belong in this situation and neither does my sister."

"Maybe if I could just explain to Natalia we could reach some sort of understanding. Or are you afraid she'll find out and rip you a new one for having a little game she doesn't know about?" Braginski is no use to me. He said himself he'd kill Roderich regardless and I believe him. What the hell could he have against Roderich though? They've never even met face to face as far as I know. Braginski was frowning now, the first time he's changed his face since I've met him. I could see the muscles under his forehead trembling as if they wanted to knit into a familiar scowl but Braginski held them back. He looked on the edge of an eruption and his eyes were murderous. That must have been one hell of a button I just pushed.

Before Braginski could say anything a timid call of "brother?" came across the empty dining room. It was the waitress with the jugs. She was standing in the door frame, peering shyly from around the door. Braginski looked over at her guiltily. As if he had been caught doing something he knew she'd be disappointed over. "Brother? If he wants to see Natalia you'd better let him. She'll be quite cross if she finds out. I can take him in my car. You stay here and finish your lunch. When I get back we can have dessert together."

The familiar smile returning to his lips, Braginski again looked calm and in control of himself. He nodded and giggled. "Yes, big sister is right. You should go. I'm getting hungry anyways." Not pausing to question my good fortune, I got up from the chair and followed the woman back through the door. We cut through the kitchen and pausing a moment, the woman swung the heavy white door in the back open. We came out in the parking lot. Looking over her shoulder to make sure I was still following, she waved me forward. I picked her car out right away. After all, there was only one black car with dark tinted windows in the lot. The hell is up with these gangster types anyways? I mean, does it _always _have to be a black car with dark tinted windows? Don't the people at the car lots get instantly suspicious when one of those orders comes in? You'd think it would be a good tipoff to the police.

I went to the passenger side and waited for the woman to unlock the doors. "Um, what are you doing?" she asked. I looked up and saw that she was standing by a yellow car parked two spaces away. "I just assumed that—never mind," I said, dropping my hand from the door handle and scuttling over to her car. You know what they say about assumptions, right?

We got in her car and it was just…. A normal car. Strange, I know. Just a little yellow ford with tan interior and one of those woman-smelling air fresheners hanging from the mirror. I read the scent. It was called 'orchard spice.' That is the kind of name that only a woman could make up and only a woman could love. I mean, if it was me I probably would have named it 'apple shit.'

As the woman turned the key to start the car she glanced over briefly and said, "You can call me Kat. It's my nickname around here." I said nothing as she started the car and backed out of the parking space. Who the hell is this woman and why is she help me? Braginski called her 'big sister' but that could mean anything. She could actually be his big sister or it could be some Russian respect pronoun or maybe Braginski just liked to throw in some ghetto talk every once in awhile. Who fucking knows. "Kat, I have to ask. Why are you helping me?" She let out a sigh and tugged at her headband. When she was finished straightening it she said, "I want to help you because this is all my fault. I'm the reason that Ivan is blackmailing Roderich Edelstein and I feel terrible about it."

XxXxX

We sat in silence for a couple of moments while Kat drove through some heavy traffic. I didn't want to distract her because she seemed like a nervous driver to begin with. When we were finally out of the worst of it she glanced at me again. "I play the cello, you see. It's just my hobby. I'm good at it but I'm not good enough or committed enough to do it as a career. However, the musical society has an amateur concert series that they do once a year. I've participated in it for several years now. Through my involvement I became quite close to a man named Bernes Goulde." I recognized the name immediately, of course. It was the man who had co-wrote the _Romantic Concerto._

"Bernes handled the amateur concert series. He was our conductor. Like I said, I became quite close to him over the years. For the past three years I've been his personal assistant during the month and a half we had to practice for the amateur concert series. He liked me a lot. Said I reminded him of his eldest daughter. I was quite fond of him as well. He was so fun and full of mischief. Well, one day when we were cleaning up the sheet music and chairs Bernes told me that he had a secret that he simply couldn't keep anymore. He told me that he and Roderich were co-writing a concerto as a tribute to their fans. I promised not to tell anyone and he played the first part of part of it for me on the piano. It was simply enchanting. I couldn't wait to hear the finished piece.

"Unfortunately, Bernes passed two weeks later. It was such a shock to see him go so suddenly but I suppose none of us could truly be surprised. He didn't care much about his health. Said he'd die when the good Lord called him and that was the end of that. I know his girls scolded him often and asked him to take better care of himself but he just refused to change his lifestyle. Well, the concert series was put on a bit of a hold while they searched for someone to take Bernes' place. Eventually Roderich stepped up to the plate and practices continued. I auditioned for a cello solo and got it. I got to know Roderich and my cello teacher Elizaveta Héderváry pretty well during that time. Roderich personally oversaw the private practices for those who had a solo part.

"Just before our concert the musical society had Bernes' memorial banquet. You can imagine my surprise when I heard Roderich perform the piece Bernes had played for me that day. I recognized it immediately. I was so shocked that he would steal the credit for it. But I never even thought to tattle on him. I didn't think it was what Bernes would have wanted. He would have been disappointed in Roderich's bad behavior but he wouldn't have wanted his friend to get into trouble over it. Still, it troubled me and I told my brother Ivan about it. I just needed someone to talk to, you know?

"It wasn't until later that I found out that Ivan was jealous of Roderich. Natalia told me. She said he didn't like how much time I was spending with him. She said Ivan hadn't minded when I was hanging out with Bernes because he was old and had a wife and kids. Roderich was different because he was young and talented and I was quite enamored with his works. Ivan—he can get so jealous. He's always been quite competitive for my affection. I suppose he's just afraid that someone is going to try to steal his sister away," she said with a sheepish smile.

_Yes,_ I thought, _but there's a huge difference between competing for your sister's affection and threatening to kill someone over it. _

"So, you see, it's my fault that Ivan is hassling Roderich. I'm trying to do everything I can to make this situation right. So that's why I've been helping you out, Gilbert. If you can convince Natalia to leave Roderich alone she'll tell Ivan to leave him alone."

"How do I know that Ivan will just magically stop?" I asked.

"What Natalia says goes. Period. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about," she said. Kat looked at me for a long moment before turning her eyes back to the road. "You have no idea what you're doing, do you. You're just doing this by the seat of your pants."

I opened my mouth to protest but she wasn't asking a question. She knew what was up and there was no sense lying to her. "Well, I wouldn't say that I have _no_ idea what I'm doing," I said, grumbling.

"If you're not a middle man," Kat continued pensively, "then what are you doing here? Why would you help Roderich out like this? Obviously Roderich isn't paying you to do this because he would have hired someone with more…. Field experience in the matter."

"I'm a private detective. It's a long story, Kat. I don't think Roderich's a bad guy and I want to help him out. He doesn't deserve this kind of heat, even if he has made some poor decisions."

"Can I make a suggestion, then? For when you talk to Natalia?"

"That would definitely make my job easier," I said.

"First, you can't talk to her like you did to Ivan. You're snarky. Has anyone ever told you that before?" she continued without waiting for my answer. Snarky? I resent that. "Use a lot of flattery. Natalia likes to be buttered up. But you have to be careful. She's not interested in you being interested in her. Do you know what I mean?" We were stopped at a stop light. Kat was looking at me intently. Do I know what she means? Let's see. From my understanding, she's saying that I shouldn't act like I think Natalia is hot or sexy. I should flatter her but not try to be a suitor.

"I think I know what you mean," I said. "Natalia isn't interested in me being attracted to her, she's interested in me thinking she's an awesome person?"

"Well, that's a good enough explanation. You see, she's kind of… well. Um, she's drawn to Ivan. Like, attracted to him. She doesn't stand complements from other men. So, if I may, I have a suggestion. Be warned; you may not like it.

"I know Roderich is gay. Trust me; I just have an eye for these things. I think you should pretend to be Roderich's boyfriend and invite Natalia out to dinner. Show her a good, fun time. She'll be more comfortable and more willing to warm up to you two if she doesn't feel threatened. Do you know what I mean," she asked.

"Yeah, that way she doesn't feel like she's cheating on Ivan," I said. Kat frowned, as if to say 'you said it, not me.' I got a feeling that she wasn't too comfortable with the strange family dynamic those three had going on. That must mean she's the only fucking normal one out of all three of them.

"Well, Kat, I suppose I could do that. If it will help Roderich out." Sure, I could pretend to be his boyfriend and pretend to take him out on a date. Even though that situation would never happen in real life, right? I'm just gonna have to use all of my acting skills for this one. It will be my greatest performance. The hardest part is going to be pretending to be absolutely attracted to Roderich. Because it's not like he's fucking beautiful or anything.

Obvious sarcasm is obvious. Also, did I just call Roderich beautiful? Damn, I really am turning into a homo these days.

Kat looked relieved, as if she had expected me to be angry at her suggestion. She slowed down the car and came to a stop in front of a large house. "We're here," she said, unbuckling her seatbelt and opening the door of the car. We walked together up the concrete walkway to the front door. Out of the corner of my eye I swear I could see Kat's breasts bouncing as she walked. I honestly feel bad for that girl. I bet she gets harassed by men all of the time over those things.

Kat didn't bother to knock on the door. She just opened it up and walked in. "Natalia," she called as she walked into the foyer. "Natalia, it's Kat. I've brought someone who needs to speak with you." Turning to me, Kat said, "go have a seat in the living room. I'll fetch her."

I didn't have to wait long before Kat walked back into the living room, another woman who must be Natalia following her. Natalia was frowning slightly, as if she was perturbed by the intrusion. Standing up as the women entered the room I stepped forward and offered my hand. "I'm sorry to intrude on you, Natalia. I'm Gilbert Beilschmidt. I was hoping you could take a few moments and talk with me. I know how busy you are."

She shook my hand but didn't even look at me. She just kind of looked past me. I guess I'm not important enough for her attention. We're going to have to change that.

"Hm. I suppose I can talk with you. But only because Kat begged me to. You've got five minutes." She sat down on the couch. I took a seat as well and Kat sat down beside Natalia.

Where to begin. Where to begin. The clock is ticking. What do I say to rock this chick's world? "Natalia, can I first say that that dress is fucking _fab_ulous!" Natalia, who had previously been looking at her nails critically, looked up sharply. Finally, I had her attention. "Mm hmm," I continued with a knowledgeable nod, "The color goes so good with your eyes. And that little apron is cute as a button." I fucking hate myself. I'm going to go perform seppuku as soon as I get out of here.

"Oh," Natalia said, blushing a little, "thank you! It's new. I wasn't quite sure of it."

"Well, it's cute as all get out. And those little black flats you have on add to your outfit so much. I'm telling you, if you get a pair of white stockings it will be just simply precious." Please! Allow me to give an explanation for my behavior. Don't judge me until you've heard it, ok? I had to do something. Obviously this chick wasn't too keen on me bursting into her house unexpected. I have to walk a fine line here. I have to get her attention while make sure I don't make her uncomfortable. I had to play up the gay. As much as I hate it, as much as I hate myself, as much as I've probably set gay rights back ten years, it had to be done. And how did I know the right things to say? Well, I just kinda tried to think of what Francis would say in this situation. Minus the sexual come-on, that is. And I'll be damned but I think it's working.

"Oh," Natalia said with a smile. "You're probably right. I'll have to get a pair of stockings and try it out. But enough about my dress, uh,"

"Gilbert," I supplied.

"Yes, well, what did you come here to talk with me about, Gilbert?"

"Well," I said with a sigh, "I think there's been a little bit of a misunderstanding, Miss Natalia. Kat here has been spending quite a lot of time at the conservatory for the amateur concert. Apparently, Ivan Braginski has become quite jealous of how close Kat and the new director Roderich Edelstein have gotten. To put it bluntly, he's been hassling my boyfriend."

"Oh," Natalia said, surprised. "Well how unfortunate. What exactly is the problem?"

"Natalia, won't you come and have dinner with Roderich and I? I'm sure between the three of us we can reach some sort of a solution."

"Well, ok. That sounds nice. Yes, this does sound like something I should investigate. I wasn't aware that Ivan was doing anything like that."

"Great," I said with a winning smile, "how about tomorrow evening at six thirty? We can go to that nice little French place on Second Street. We've never been there and our friend Francis says it's simply to die for."

"Sounds great," Natalia said with a smile. "I'm looking forward to it."

XxXxX

**[A/N Sooooo you might have noticed that this chapter is kinda…. Late. Well, unfortunately, I was deterred by circumstances that were totally foreseeable. Yes. I openly admit it: I SHOULD HAVE PLANNED BETTER. But I didn't. So I'm sorry. I'm still shooting for another chapter for this Saturday (back on schedule) so I suppose I should stop writing lame author notes and actually write content. Not to mention that for some fucking stupid reason I've started a US/Canada fiction as well. Nobody will ever accuse me of having common sense DX **

**Please review! It makes me happy in the pants—uh, I mean what? That was a typo. Haha, yeahhh a typo.]**


	9. Table for three, please!

"So let me get this straight," Roderich said. Even though we were talking over the phone and I couldn't see his face, his voice was more than enough to let me know that he was angry. "You invited someone else to come with us on our date."

"Well to be fair—"

"You made our date into a _ménage __à__ trios_?"

"I don't—"

"You couldn't have asked her to dinner some other night? We were going on a date, Gilbert."

"Were? We still are! Um, right?"

"Let me ask you a question; when you watch romance movies does the gentleman slide up to the maître d' and say 'table for three, please?'"

I didn't bother to answer his snide question. What did I do to deserve this bullshit? For fuck's sake, you'd swear I'd asked if we wanted to have a threesome with Francis the way he's acting. "Roddy, you're being unfair, don't cha think? Here I thought you'd be happy that I was making progress. Dammit, once we know you're out of this predicament we can go on as many dates as we fucking want and not have to worry about decapitation or disembowelment." I didn't mean to get so hot at him. I think I yelled at him because it was my nature to not suffer criticism. I never claimed to have good people skills, all right? Sometimes I feel like I can read people pretty good and then there's just times like this when I feel like I'm feeling my way around a dark room I don't know so well.

Roderich sighed loudly into the phone. After a moment he said, "I suppose you're right. I'm being unreasonable, aren't I?" I remained silent. Maybe I'm just acting a tad silly but I can't shake the feeling that this is some sort of trap. I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to answer that. My gamble paid off and Roderich resumed talking. I sank back into my office chair, relieved. Another bullet successfully dodged. "I was just really looking forward to spending a nice evening out with you. To get to know you better."

"I know. But hopefully we can get this over with soon and be done with it."

"Gilbert~Dinner's ready!" Italy yelled from the kitchen. Dammit, dammit, dammit!

"Who's that?" asked Roderich curiously. Damn it all. It's not that I want to lie to anybody about Feliciano staying over it's just that….. sometimes things are easier for all involved if as little information as possible is shared.

"Oh, that's… my brother-in-law," I said. Well, I'm not really lying.

"Oh. Well, if you guys are ready to eat don't let me keep you. I'll see you tomorrow at six then."

"Hey, Roderich," I said, hoping that he hadn't hung up yet.

"What," he asked.

"You're not still mad at me, are you?"

"No, of course not."

"Oh. Ok then. Well, goodbye."

"Goodbye!"

"Goodbye?" Observed Italy, who was leaning on the doorframe to the kitchen, eavesdropping. "Ve~Usually you just curse and hang up the phone. Was that your—"

"_Shut up and let's eat dinner." _

XxXxX

"When's West getting back again?" I said sourly the next morning as Italy and I ate cereal. _Don't get me wrong, the guy could cook but things are getting a bit too cozy around here,_ I thought as I observed that Italy wasn't wearing any pants. At the breakfast table no less.

"Sunday morning," said Italy. Looking at me sympathetically he said, "I know. I miss him too."

"Well, I suppose the cat's out of the bag, then," I said dryly, picking up my dishes as I got up from my chair.

As I was snagging a beer out of the fridge (ok, yes, I DID refrigerate some of them. So fucking sue me.) the phone began to ring. I grabbed it from its cradle and answered it as I sat down at my desk. "Hello?"

"Ah, Gilbert! Such a beautiful morning, _non?" _I twisted off the cap with a grimace and took a swig of beer. I was going to need it if I was going to talk to Francis. God love him, but I like him so much more when there's alcohol involved.

"Wouldn't know. Just got up. Me and Feli just got done with breakfast."

"But it's quarter to one."

"Ok, so Feli had lunch and I just got done with breakfast. Technicalities, my friend."

"Sure, whatever you say, Gil," Francis said, chuckling. "So you got the beer, yes? Ah you enjoying it? Is poor Francis forgiven?" 

"Yeah, I got it. Drinking one now, in fact."

"Uh, huh. Say, there, Gil. Ah you familiar with ze term 'functional alcoholic?'"

"Fuck you. They drink beer all fucking day in good old Germany. Who am I to question my ancestral tradition?" Like he's one to talk! I bet he brushes his teeth with Pinot Noire like a good old Francophile.

"Uh, huh. Well perhaps instead of drinking all by yourself at one in ze afternoon you would like to go drinking with me zis evening?"

"Can't. I'm busy," I said.

"Doing what?" Demanded Francis. I should lie. Oh, yes I should. But a certain thought just popped into my head. Am I really that much of a bastard to act on it? Psssh. I think we've established by now that by George, I fucking am.

_Ok, Francis. I promise, after this I call it even between us._

"Going on a date," I said, my voice bored.

"Ah! With who? What is her name?" Oh, yes. He took the bait. Can someone say hook, line, and sinker?

"Actually," I said, pausing as if I'm deciding if I should confide in him. "It's a dude."

"Oh, ho ho! Ah always did say zat you'd bat for ze other team one day!" Yes, he did. But I got the distinct impression that he always thought it would be with him. As if. "Go on, tell your friend Francis who ze lad is!"

"I don't want to talk about it. You know the person and I don't know how you'll react." Oh, yes. Closer, Francis, closer. You're so close to my little trap.

I wasn't worried. He'd bite. Intrigue was ingrained in his nature. "You have to tell me now!"

"But you'll be mad." 

"Ah promise, ah won't!" Somehow, his voice was simultaneously giddy and grave as he made his vow.

"I have a date with Roderich Edelstein tonight."

"Oh," he said flatly, the disappointment heavy in his voice. "You mean a _rendez-vous _to talk about ze case. Ha. You really had me going zer for a moment."

"No, I mean an actual date. A romantic dinner date."

"Nu-uh!" Francis retorted childishly. "You ah lying to me. Trying to get my goat."

"Nope. I'll even prove it." I called for Italy. He came into the living room looking confused. "Here, tell Francis why you picked out some clothes for me to wear this evening."

"Oh," Italy said brightly, as if he was relieved I'd asked a question he knew the answer to. Picking up the phone he confidently told Francis "I picked Gilbert out an outfit for his date with his boyfriend tonight." Italy paused as Francis said something. "His boyfriend's name? Roderich. Why?" I took that moment to snag the phone back from Italy.

"Still there, Francis," I asked, ignoring his frenzied shouts in my ear. "I'd love to chat, but I can't spend all day on the phone. Not when I have a date to get ready for this evening. Sorry I can't come out to play. Maybe next time, _mon ami._" I hung up the phone. Another successful dick move by yours truly.

He's probably going to murder me the next time I see him, though. _Ah, well, _I thought as I drank some more beer, _there really was no easy way to break it to him._ Me and him are even for the Vargas thing. No, really. I'll quit bitching about it, I promise. But right now, I should get a shower. I just noticed that I kinda smell like a lumberjack.

XxXxX

"Well, I have to admit," I muttered aloud as I looked at my reflection in the mirror, "the boy does have a knack for fashion." When I saw the clothes Italy had laid out for me I just assumed that he'd gone temporarily insane. Or at least temporarily colorblind. There was no mistake that these were the clothes that he had picked out. They were laid neatly over my bed with a little note that said, '_Wear these tonight. Don't forget to complement Roderich on how he looks. Promise me I can meet him soon? Love, Feli.' _Italy was out running some errands.

I'm sure you're going to want to know about the outfit. Yeah, whatever. So picture this; grey slacks and a white shirt. Not too memorable, right? Well, Italy also set out the red bowtie that he bought me for last Christmas. Of course I'd never worn the thing. I'm just glad it was one of those fake ones that you just have to buckle around your neck. I can hardly tie a tie let alone a freakin' bowtie. To top it all off, a navy blazer. Sounds like too many colors and shit, right? I'm telling you, it actually looks damned good. It seems rather _me,_ if you know what I'm saying. Pffft. Like I could ever pull together an outfit like this all by myself.

Listen now, don't down on me for my total disregard for fashion. When the man upstairs was giving out life skills I picked bear wrestling over color coordination. It's much more practical.

I gathered up my wallet and keys and prepared to leave. Really, I have butterflies in my stomach? What am I, a twelve year old girl? This is ridiculous. I slammed the door to show the whole apartment building that I am a man and strutted down the stairs. I got this. Really, I do.

XxXxX

Walking up Roderich's front path, I felt a moment of panic. Was I supposed to get him flowers or something? I have no fucking idea. I mean, it's only a first date. Or is it on the first date that you're supposed to bring the flowers? Why bring flowers at all? Why do people even do that? I mean, you're basically giving someone a handful of dead plant genitalia. Who approved of this? Who's the first idiot that walked up to his sweetheart's hut, thought belatedly _I should have got her something_, looked frantically around, then finally decided to uproot some unsuspecting foliage as a peace offering? Am I the only one who sees how fucking ridiculous this is or am I just over thinking this and hyperventilating into Roderich's bushes?

Not even thinking straight, I grabbed a handful of daisies out of the flowerbeds surrounding the house. They were pink. _Great, _I thought sarcastically as I rung the bell, _just fucking great. _Welp, it's too late to chuck 'em so Roderich is just going to have to like them.

And hopefully not recognize them from his flowerbeds. I'm such a fucking spaz.

I dried my palms on my pants and waited. Finally, the door opened and Roderich was standing there. I practically shoved the flowers into his chest. _Why am I acting like such a spaz, seriously, chill the fuck out._

"Are these from my flowerbeds?" Roderich asked with a bemused expression as he observed that most of the daisies had strings of root attached to them.

"Ye-eah," I admitted, guiltily I might add. Roderich looked at me with some annoyance for a moment before his knitted eyebrows trembled and he burst out into gentle laughter.

"I know I should be annoyed that you're tearing up my flowerbeds but… who does that kind of thing? I have a feeling that you're the unpredictable sort." He broke out into another bit of laughter before pushing his glasses up his nose and saying, "I'll be back in a moment. I'm going to put these daisies in a jar of water."

Ah, er, that could have gone worse, I suppose.

XxXxX

"You look nice tonight," I commented as we entered the restaurant. Roderich smiled and said thanks. Ok. I'm out of Italy's dating advice. I'm totally on my own.

"Reservation under Beilschmidt," I said to the maître d'. "Ah, yes," he replied as he checked his little book. "Beilschmidt, table for three." I could feel Roderich's disapproval before I turned around sheepishly and saw it for myself. Hey, I thought he said he wasn't still mad about that.

We didn't speak until we were sitting at a tidy little table. I had already explained to Roderich on the way over that we were going to have to act like we had been dating for awhile and work to charm Natalia. Roderich was cutting open a roll and buttering it. His mouth was still set in that fine line. It was just slightly different from his usual brand of bi—I mean snobbery. I couldn't tell if he was just nervous or pissy.

"I'm nervous," I said suddenly.

"Me too," Roderich confessed, setting down his overly buttered roll down on its plate. Ok, I'm relieved.

We made small talk while we waited for Natalia. Stupid stuff—how about that weather? Yes, it's been rather dry lately. Perhaps we'll get some rain soon? No, the weatherman said it's going to be totally dry this week. You'll have to water your flowers in front. Yes, as long as someone doesn't pull them all up, that is.

Finally, the waiter brought Natalia to our table. We both stood up and I clasped Natalia's hand. "Natalia, so glad you made it. This is Roderich," I said, nodding over to him. He shook Natalia's hand as well and they made their pleasantries. I didn't have to worry about Roderich. He was bred for situations like this.

Natalia shook Roderich's hand, eyes flicking up and down, sizing him up. Her gaze was measuring, calculating for a second before she softened a little and released his hand. I helped Natalia into her seat like a spiffy gentleman and took my own seat. Presently, the waiter came to the table showing a bottle of wine. "Will this please the party for tonight?"

Roderich took one glance at the bottle and said, "Certainly not. Take it away and bring us a good wine. A Spanish Rioja, perhaps? I trust you can find us a good year?"

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir," said the waiter, bowing before walking away.

"Quite the wine connoisseur, are you?" asked Natalia, clearly impressed by Roderich's smooth orders. Makes sense, though. Roddy's a snob at heart. Why wouldn't he bully the wait staff over bad wine?

"Yes, I'm afraid I picked that bad habit up from my mother," he replied jokingly while he shook out his napkin. He and Natalia laughed together while I sat back, a little lost. The waiter returned and showed the bottle to Roderich. "Yes, that's more like it. Here, Natalia, you simply must try it. This is a fantastic year." After the wine was poured and our orders were placed the waiter walked away. Natalia and Roderich picked up their wine glasses and I followed suit belatedly. I tried to imitate Roderich. He was cradling his hand around the bottom of the glass, the stem hanging in between his middle and ring fingers. He gently swirled the contents of the glass before lifting it up to—smell the bouquet? Isn't that what they call it?

Roderich and Natalia made comments about the bouquet and the body. I assumed they were still talking about the wine. I fucking hate wine. It smells ok but it tastes bad. This 'full-bodied Rioja with a nice, velvety backbone and a pleasing finish,' as Roderich commented offhand, was definitely wasted on me. Pour me a good beer. I find the taste of hops soothing. I simply made encouraging noises to vacantly voice my concurrence whenever the other two said something intelligent about the wine.

They chattered about wine for a few minutes more before our table lapsed into silence. Finally, Natalia spoke. "So, to get down to business, I spoke with my sister Kat last night. She explained a good deal about your situation. I have to say, this is difficult. It seems like someone here has been rather naughty." She lifted a finger from her wine glass to wag at Roderich as she spoke. Roderich ducked his head and had the decency to look ashamed of himself.

"I know, Natalia. Believe me, I don't approve of what he did either but everyone makes mistakes," I cut in. "Mind you, this happened before I knew Roderich but I don't believe he meant things to happen as they did. He's under a great deal of pressure and scrutiny under the spotlight and he slipped up. He's a good guy, really," I patted his arm gently to punctuate my point. Seeing Natalia's gaze linger on me touching him, I left my hand upon his arm.

"So how long have you two been going out?" Natalia asked.

"Four months," I said brightly. "Almost five I believe, right Roderich?"

"Your math is a bit off," Roderich said. "We're well over five months. Of course I don't expect him to remember anything as unimportant as our first date," he said, leaning in conspiratorially towards Natalia. "You know how men are," he said in a low, teasing voice.

Natalia laughed brightly. "Yes, I know what you mean. They are awfully forgetful, aren't they? And so often they just don't understand what they want," she finished, looking moodily. Somehow, I feel like she wasn't speaking of men in general but of one man in particular. I can't even bring myself to have sympathy for Ivan.

The waiter returned to refill our water glasses while another waiter placed our food on the table. "Check to see that your steak is done how you like it. Don't be afraid to speak up, dear," Roderich commented to Natalia. "Oh, look at these scalloped potatoes. They look delicious."

"My brother Ivan," Natalia began after we had sat in silence for several minutes enjoying our food, "Can get jealous over the silliest things. He's quite fond of Kat," Natalia said, her voice getting a little terse, "although I'm not quite sure why." Oh, yes, she's jealous all right.

"He was upset because he thought that you were going to steal away Kat's attention," Natalia continued, looking towards Roderich. "But he's a grown man now and he cannot continue to act childishly. I blame Kat a little; she always did coddle him. Still, Ivan acted without my permission in this matter. I give the orders around here and he could do well to remember that," she finished darkly. Uh, oh. Looks like Ivan's in trouble! "Forget about the blackmail. I'll give you a pass this time. It seems like I have some housekeeping to attend to at home. I refuse to spend any more time on this silly matter. Consider us in good terms, Roderich. But in the future it's up to you to _keep_ in our good terms."

"Yes, m'am," Roderich said humbly. I'll be sure to do that. "Thank you."

Two points to team Beilschmidt. Am I good or am I fucking good? I couldn't even resist giving Roderich a fierce congratulatory kiss. I heard Natalia sigh in approval. When I pulled away Roderich was flushed and even stuttered when asking the waiter for the bill.

Have I ever mentioned how much I love it when he comes undone?

XxXxX

"So," Roderich said.

"So," I replied, smiling. We were standing by my car in the parking lot. I wanted to give a victory whoop but somehow I think the patrons lined up outside of the restaurant would disapprove. "So that's it then," Roderich said, no longer trying to restrain a huge grin. He gave in and chuckled lightly. "It's really over then," he said with some wonder.

"Looks that way," I replied. Hopefully, hopefully that's it. I want to believe that it's all over but I just don't feel like we should throw our celebratory party just yet. To be honest, I was worried about Ivan. The thing about crazy is that you can't predict it. I may never see him again or he might show up at my doorstep tomorrow, Kalashnikov in hand. Really, though, I wasn't overly worried about it. I have a feeling that he's going to be quite busy with Natalia for awhile. She seemed like a sister on a mission.

"Now for the easy part," I told Roderich. "I just have to 'find' your piano and make it convincing. Then you withdraw the police report and the insurance claim. You'll be out of trouble and I damn well expect you to keep out of trouble," I said, severely. "Unless I'm involved, that is," I finished, wryly.

Roderich's smile dimmed just a little and he nodded. "Yes, yes, I do believe I've learned my lesson. I'm just glad that I could learn it without getting burned."

"Do you want to go get coffee with me," I said suddenly. "Since I botched our first date let's go straight on to date one and a half."

"Sure. I'd like that," Roderich said, smile returning as we got into the car.

XxXxX

**[A/N Yeah, yeah. A little late again this week but I was still playing catch up from last week's disastrous delay.**

**Anywhooo…. I'm rather mad at myself because I'm starting to see things I should have done differently. Argh. I just feel like kicking myself in the face DX But then I just calm down and remember that this is all just for fun. Yeah, haha, fun. Right. XD XD XD **

**Reviews are appreciated.]**


	10. Brosephs and man love

I fairly danced into my apartment building. Awesomely, might I add. Little know fact: I'm fucking BEAST at dancing. Well, when I'm drunk anyways. But I'm actually not drunk right now. I'm just so fucking happy.

Have I ever told you how awesome I am? Probably not. I don't like to toot my own horn. I prefer to have others toot it for me. Haha, that's sarcasm. Kinda. Well, back to me being awesome. It's true. Not just anybody can turn a run-of-the-mill detective case into their bitch. Seriously, I've been giving this case the pimp hand. The rest is easy. All I have to do is have West pull the robbery files and delete them. After that West will have to call the insurance company and tell them the piano was recovered. Roderich will have to change insurance companies, of course. Better have him wait a couple of months, though, to off put suspicion.

All I have to do, uh, is convince West to delete the files. Ok, maybe I shouldn't be dancing yet. That's likely to be hard. For some reason West doesn't like to play along with my schemes. Probably because most of them are kinda, sorta, technically illegal. I try to tell him everything is legal until you get caught but he doesn't see the beauty of it. He can't be so high and mighty anyways. It was that wonderful, tax-free money that I earn that paid his damned hospital bills.

Huh. Come to think of it, won't the insurance company be suspicious if the piano is just "found" and no one is being charged? Argh. Is it too risky? What the hell else can I do, though? The piano _needs_ to be found. I suggested that we send Vash down the river but Roderich thumped me in the head. I was joking! Ok, maybe I wasn't. But don't tell Roderich that.

Wait! I have an idea! Rushing over to the phone, I dug through my desk drawers until I found a little slip of paper. Dialing the number, I tapped my foot impatiently. _Come on… come on…. pick up…._

"Hello," a voice said, sleepily.

"Hey! Toni, I have an emergency, man! Where can I get an abandoned warehouse?" I heard rustling on the other side of the phone. "Give me a minute," Toni said in a low voice. I tapped my foot impatiently once more. Finally, Toni spoke again.

"Who is this?"

"It's Gilbert, man."

"Oh, hello, Gil," Toni said a bit more cheerfully. "I was sleeping. What's going on now?" I glanced at my watch. Seemed a little early to be asleep on a Friday night. "A warehouse, Toni! I need an abandoned warehouse!"

"Wha? What do you need an abandoned warehouse for?"

"Argh," I said, exasperated. I quickly explained the situation and my ingenious plan.

"Well, that's not really something I can help you out with. The only thing I could recommend is that you talk to the boss." I assume he means Romano. "But I don't think he's gonna do anything for you until you get Feli talking to him again."

"Can't he front me just one favor," I asked, exasperated. Toni didn't answer. It was because we both knew the answer to that. "I have to at least call him and see!" I said. "Lemme call you back, Toni. I'm going to give that short bastard a call."

"Don't bother, he's sleeping," Toni said.

"How do you know he's sleeping," I asked, annoyed.

"I, uh, I, I, I," he stuttered. "He goes to bed at the same time. Every night. Yep. He goes to bed early so he can get up early. A real early bird, that boss man is. Besides," Toni said, forging on. "He's not gonna do it, I'm telling you. Not until you do what he told you to first."

I sighed, annoyed, and ran my hands through my hair. "Well, dammit, I guess I'm just going to have to get those two blockheads back together. dammit. Well. Let me think about it and we can talk it over tomorrow at _McGinty's. _I could use your insight. You know that mean little prick better than I do."

"Aw, c'mon, Gil. He's not that bad. You just gotta know how to take him. I mean, you gotta understand how to deal with him. Uh, hold on a sec." I didn't have to wait long before Toni was back. He said, "hey, I gotta go. I'll just see you later, kay?"

"Tomorrow night, right?" I reminded him.

"Yes. Definitely. Ok, goodbye." I hung up the phone, frowning. Yes, this plan is better, safer. Assuming Romano will get me an abandoned warehouse, that is. We cart that damned Bösendorfer to the warehouse and I send an anonymous tip off to the police. The good ol' boys do the grunt work. They won't find anything, of course. They close the case, release the piano, and inform the insurance company. It's all by the book. Really, this one could work! And to think; it's all contingent on Feliciano and Romano Vargas. The two fuckhead brothers. One who can barely manage to tie his own shoes without crying in frustration and the other who most likely uses his shoes to beat Toni on a regular basis. I think I need a drink.

"Who was that on the phone?" I jumped. I was so busy first dancing then making ingenious plans that I totally forgot Feliciano was still here. Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. Did I mention Romano's name when I was on the phone? I can't remember. Fuck. Should I lie about who I called? "Oh, it was just Toni," I blurted, praying that Italy would just let it drop.

"Oh, Toni? Huh." Italy looked up in the air and thought hard. "I knew a guy named Toni once. Haha, of course it wouldn't be the same guy but it just made me think of him."

"Oh, really? Yeah. Uh, so is there any leftover lasagna? Because I'm actually kinda hungry. Damned fancy restaurants don't hardly give you any food." Yes, that's right. Change the subject.

Unfortunately, Italy has a one-track mind. "Yeah," he continued as if I hadn't even spoken. "Toni was a nice enough guy. He's really close to my brother. They spend so much time together. I feel really bad for him. Romano isn't always the nicest person to be around."

I rather thought that was the understatement of the year. I tried again. "Don't you want to hear about my date?" I asked. Italy brightened with excitement. That did the trick.

"Ooh! Yes! Do tell!"

"Well, I did what you told me. I took him to a nice French place Francis told me about and I complemented him. The dinner was ok, I guess." It's kinda hard telling the story while leaving out Natalia. If Italy didn't skin me first for inviting a third wheel on our date he certainly would for associating with the Russian mob. "But I asked him out to coffee afterwards and we had a great time. We went to _Paul Revere's. _We talked about a lot of stuff and had a great time. We stayed until the coffee shop closed. They had to kick us out," I joked. "Then I took him home."

Italy giggled excitedly as he listened to my story. "Did you kiss him goodnight?" he asked.

"Geeze, Italy, that's private. You can't just expect me to tell you that I walked him to his door and kissed him, pressing him against his door while he messed my hair all up." I couldn't hold up my scolding demeanor and ended up breaking into a boastful grin halfway though. Yeah, that's right. We made out on his fucking welcome mat. And you know what? It was sexy as fuck.

Italy giggled some more and said, "wow, Gilbert. I'm surprised. You've really taken to having a boyfriend. I was so upset and nervous when I started going out with Ludwig."

Meh. It's not that surprising, really. After all, I seem to be surrounded by lots of gays. I mean, there's Feliciano, Ludwig, Francis. And isn't that shit genetic? Well, then sounds like me and West were just doomed at birth. Yes. Doomed to have smoking hot boyfriends (well, I can only speak for mine) for the rest of our lives. Sounds terrible, doesn't it? And maybe, well, maybe I knew a long time ago and I just didn't want to admit it. I guess if there's anything more depressing than being a bachelor it's being a gay bachelor.

"Say, how did you guys end up going out anyways? I know how you met but how did you convince West go out."

Italy smiled dreamily. "Actually, he asked me out. We didn't get along the first time we met, did you know that? He didn't believe me when I told him about how I forgot to put pants on that day I got picked up. You could tell he was really angry with me. He was mad because he just couldn't understand, you know?

"It was the second time that I got arrested for not wearing pants in public that he asked me out. We were in one of those little rooms. One of the ones where they ask you questions. He wanted to know what my deal was, he said. He couldn't stop thinking about me and he couldn't figure out why. I said that maybe he liked me or something. I didn't mean it romantically. Well, all of a sudden, his face got all red and he practically ran out of the room.

"Well, I had to wait for Romano to come and pick me up so I was at the station for a long time. Just a little before Romano got there Ludwig came busting into the room and asked me on a date. He was so cute. He was stammering and everything. I just said yes. I didn't even think about it. It felt so natural, you know?" Hmm. I kinda think I do.

"One more question; did they give you a pair of pants to wear at the police station or were you just sitting around there naked all day."

Feli laughed. "You silly goose! Of course they gave me something to wear! Unfortunately, they didn't really have much lying around so I had to wear a skirt someone left in the lady's locker room lost and found."

Oh, dear lord. Feli, you never cease to amaze me.

That is not necessarily a good thing.

XxXxX

I sat there, rolling my eyes, trying to pay attention to my movie rather than Italy talking on the phone with West. Believe me, I didn't want to hear any of their mushy garbage but it was kinda hard to ignore when Italy was sitting ten feet away. Seriously, Feliciano, could you talk any louder without yelling? Get a damned room already. Actually, wait. Don't. Because I swear on all the beer in Germany if I catch Italy jacking off in my apartment I'm going to…. To…. To—I just can't even put into words how it would make me do. Needless to say, it wouldn't end well.

"Nu-uh, I love _you_ more!" Feliciano said with a giggle. I wrinkled my nose.

"We get it, we fucking get it. You love him and he loves you." Oh, yes. I was ranting now. There's no use trying to stop it until it's all out. "You both love each other so fucking much that you can't even spend an entire day without talking to each other on the damned phone. We get it. Now please have mercy on the rest of us mortals and either put a bullet in my temporal lobe or just quit with the mushy bullshit. For Pete's sake; he's coming home tomorrow." Wew. I felt a little better now.

Italy was silent for a moment, listening to something West was saying. "No, Ludwig," he said with a giggle, "I can't say _that!_ You know I don't like to cuss. Besides, Gilbert's just jealous that he's not talking to his—" Italy literally clasped a hand over his own mouth. Oh, yes. I knew what he was about to say. He was about to spill the fucking beans. I glared at him from the couch. Seriously, if I had fucking laser beams for eyes I'd be drilling a fucking hole in his head right now.

"Ve~Ludwig did you know that if you put metal in the microwave it will make it explode?" Only coming from him. Only coming from the airiest headed grown up child in the entire continent could such an asininely retarded, non-sequitur comment actually succeed in drawing attention away from the previous topic so masterfully. Honestly, I was so scared that Italy was about to blurt out my secret to West that a whole bunch of big words were just scared out of me. Wow. What the hell is non-sequitur mean anyways?

Italy listened to West's response then said brightly. "I know! And did you know that tinfoil is technically metal? Crazy, right? Oh, and silverware—metal! All metal," he said sagely.

I reflected for a moment on how fortunate it is that Feliciano will never have the chance to reproduce.

XxXxX

"Heyyyyyyy!" Antonio said, holding a mug of beer above his head in greeting.

"I'll have what he's having," I said to McGinty. He grunted and pulled a mug out from below the counter. "How the hell are you, Toni?"

"I'm good my friend," he said, gesturing with his beer. I don't know what it is about this guy but he seems like shit tons of fun. I feel like he can kick up some dickens and I'm all about that. McGinty plopped the beer down in front of me. I took a swallow. Pretty good. Not German good but then, haha, not all beer can be heavenly German beer.

"So did you come up with a plan yet?" Toni asked.

"I think so. Not gonna lie, Toni. It's risky business. Life on challenge mode, as it were. And I'm going to need your help. If we can pull this off then we're on the home stretch. Can I count you in?" I didn't even need to ask. I knew he'd be in. For some odd reason Antonio has a weird, fierce loyalty for Romano. If it'll make that Italian prick happy then it will make Antonio happy. It's odd, though. I can't quite figure those two out.

Ah, well. What's it matter? As long as it works in my favor then who am I to question it? I explained my plan to Toni. He looked quite dubious. "Ah, Gilbert, I don't know. This could end so badly," he said, warily.

"I know, I know. But what else can I do? Both of those idiots have got it in their mind that they won't be the first one to apologize. And fucking Romano wants this to be cloak and dagger shit. I dunno. I just don't have that many options. I'm ready for this whole thing to be fucking done with! Damn. I can't wrap up my other case until this one is done. What bullshit. What fucking bullshit. So fuck it. If Romano's pissed, he's pissed. What else is new? Now, can I count on you or not, Toni?"

Antonio exhaled heavily through his nose. His mouth was pressed into a fine line. He clearly wasn't happy but what choice did he have? "Ok, I'll hold up my end of the plan. I just hope for both of our sakes that it doesn't blow up in our face. Ah, Gilbert. This worries me."

"I know, I know. Risky business. Whatever. We don't have to worry about it until tomorrow. Now let's just chill out and drink. We still got one night in front of us before the proverbial shit hits the fan. Let's make it a good one."

I don't know what Toni's so worried about. It's not like Romano would kill him if it goes badly tomorrow. I can't exactly say the same thing. Honestly, I talk so much bullshit on him but when it comes down to the wire, I admit that you have to be one bad mother fucker to run the Italian mafia. And you don't get there by valuing every human life you come across.

"Ok, then," Toni said, smiling charismatically. "A toast, then. To a successful plan and a successful night of drinking."

"I can toast to that," I said, smiling. Our mugs clinked with a manly thud and we drank.

XxXxX

"I have a boyfriend," Toni blurted. His face was flushed from the alcohol. For no disenable reason I started laughing. "Me too, Toni. Mine's better, though," I taunted.

"Nu-uuh!" Toni taunted back childishly. "Mine is perfect. So beautiful. And his ass? Day-um! He has the nicest tushie on the whole face of the entire planet," Toni said, unusually serious. He nodded for emphasis.

"Well mine is a, a fucking _musical genius. _And stuff. And he has the prettiest eyes. And the best hair. There's this little part that sticks up. It's silly looking. But in a good way.

"AND!" I said, on a roll now. "He's a really nice guy. Too fucking nice. But that's ok. He's nice enough for the both of us."

Toni sighed dramatically. "Well," he lamented. "You have me there. My guy is not very nice. He yells at me all the time. But that's just 'cos he doesn't know how to, like, express his emotions, you know?" Toni asked, soulfully, both of his palms towards me. I nodded like I understood. I didn't. I was too fuzzy in the head to really get what he was saying. "But," Toni continued, perking up and pointing his finger in the air, "he's soooo good in bed. Better than me, even."

"I—" I continued before pausing. "Well, you have me there. Me and Roderich haven't, ya know, yet. Huh. Come to think of it, I bet I'm going to be terrible at it. Oh my gosh, Toni. I'm going to suck in bed!" This is upsetting! Argh! But I'm good at everything, right? Except this. I know I'm going to be bad at this. Gah. I know I'm a little emotional from the alcohol but damn!

"Noooo," Toni said reassuringly, reaching over to put an arm around me. "You're gonna be good, really! Great, in fact! You just have to be prepared. You mean you've never made love to a man before?"

I shook my head woefully. I drank more beer. Yes. More beer. That will definitely solve my problem! Hey, McGinty, another round, please. Oh, wait, I need to say that out loud for him to hear me. Ha, whoops. "MaGlinty, 'nuther round, bud."

"No," McGinty rumbled, not even looking up from his tasks. "You and that Latino trash are done for tonight. You're bellowing up a storm about giving it up the ass to other men. If there was any other people in the bar right now I'd kick both you knob jockeys out the door before you had time to make fairy eyes at all the pretty boys." He came over and thumped two cups of coffee down in front of us. "On the house. Just sober up and get going. I got shit to do and it don't include babysitting."

"Porn," Toni said wisely, as if he hadn't heard McGinty's interlude. "You should watch porn, Gilbert. To see is to learn, no?"

"I dunno," I said, dubious. "That seems kinda dirty. Like I'm cheating on Roddy. Plus, I don't think he'd appreciate it if I pulled out porn star moves. Haha. Porn stars. Hey, does, um, um," I said foggily, trying to recall Toni's boyfriend's name. "Ah, I forget. What's your boyfriend's name again?" Toni's arm tightened around my shoulder. I know because it made me slosh some coffee onto my hand. I looked over, mildly annoyed. 

"Um, um, ummmmmmmmmmm," Toni said. "I can't tell you," he said finally. "I can't tell you who my boyfriend is. It's a secret." He was sitting back in his chair again, both hands curled around the cup of coffee to keep it steady.

"A secret boyfriend," I said, frowning. "I can understand that. I don't want my brother to know I'm gay. He's gonna think I'm copy-cating him or sumthin.'"

"Well, I want to embrace my love in public but he won't let me. He doesn't want people to know he's gay. I say it's nothing to be ashamed of. There's nothing wrong with a man loving another man with his manparts!" McGinty looked over at us darkly again.

"Hahaha," I laughed, suddenly struck by a realization. "Does Romano know you're gay? Cos that could be bad for you."

"No, he knows alright," Toni said gloomily.

"And he's cool with that? Wow. What a dick face. He bawls his own brother out for being gay but he doesn't have a problem with his personal body guard and friend being gay."

"Romano's complicated," Toni said. "You just see the bad in him. I know him better. I've known him for so long. There are so many layers to him and sometimes his emotion just can't make it through without becoming distorted. It's rather sad," Toni finished with a sigh.

"Hum," I said, non committedly. Still think he's an ass.

"Oh!" Toni exclaimed. "Back to your problem. Do you know what fixes everything? Blowjobs!" He exclaimed happily.

"Alright, Alright, that's it," McGinty cut in. "Take a hike you two. And don't come back unless you can have a conversation that doesn't involve ass milking. This is a fambly joint," he drawled.

A fambly joint? Is that anything like a _family_ joint? As in _family friendly? _I didn't know that bars fit into that category.

"Hahaha," Toni said, again ignoring McGinty. "Did you know there's this song called Too Drunk To Fuck?" he started singing it. I decided that I had to be the responsible adult here as I was slightly more sober than Toni. I helped him out of his chair and made him hobble towards the door. McGinty mumbled good riddance and Toni kept belting off some really off tuned singing.

As Toni warbled out the repetitive chorus again I reflected hazily that perhaps it wasn't the best idea to be three sheets to the wind the night before you have a big plan going down.

Ah, well. Hindsight's 20/20. There's no way Toni's gonna be able to drive home. I suppose he's just going to have to stay at my house. I took his arm to steady his walking and pointed him in the right direction of my apartment building. "That-a-way. Keep walking. The night air will do us some good."

XxXxX

**[A/N "There's nothing wrong with a man loving another man with his manparts." Oh lordy. Did I really write that? Nice.**

**So this is the 10****th**** chapter, huh? Wow. Words sure do fly. **

**And I'd say I'm sorry for leaving you on the hook about Gilbert's amazing plan to reconcile the Vargas brothers but I'm not :p **

**This chapter was just…. Odd. Reviews are appreciated.]**


	11. Vaffanculo!

After I basically kicked open my front door I groggily realized two things. First, Italy was sleeping peacefully on the couch. He must have taken pity on my poor back and decided to spend his last night on the couch. The second thing I realized was that in my alcohol induced state for some reason I had thought it a good idea to take Antonio home with me. No big deal, right? Except for the fact that Italy was sleeping on my couch. And Italy wasn't supposed to know I knew Antonio. _Italy is sleeping on the couch and I'm bringing his brother's bodyguard through the front door with the finesse of a drunken asshole. _

I would have pissed my pants if I hadn't been suddenly concerned with making any movements or noises that would wake Feliciano. Luckily, Antonio was being super quiet, basically asleep standing up with his head on my shoulder. I crept quietly towards my room. As quietly as one could while dragging a hundred and fifty pounds of dead weight along with them, that is. Finally, we were in my room and I closed my door quietly. My heart was hammering unevenly from the adrenalin and I had given myself a slight headache from focusing so hard in my buzzed state.

Ok. Well, immediate danger minimized. But, uh, what the hell am I supposed to do with Antonio? We are _not _sharing a bed. I do not know you like that, Toni. While I was standing there debating, Toni came round a little. Enough to groggily stand on his own and shuffle over to the bed with a dreamy smile and a few mumbled words. Then he took his pants off. Yes, he took his fucking pants off revealing yellow boxers. Are those turtles on them? It's too dark to tell. He climbed halfway onto the bed before just simply face planting right in the middle. He didn't stir after that.

Well I suppose that answers that question.

Bastard.

I grabbed a pillow from the bed and ripped a blanket out that was partially trapped under Antonio's body. His face is facing straight down into that mattress. That can't be healthy. Should I turn his face or let the bastard smother? Ah, better turn his face. I don't think I could explain to _anyone _why I snuck Antonio into my apartment late last night and he why was later found dead, pantsless, and liquored up, laying ass up on my bed.

I tried to make myself as comfortable as possible on the floor. Which is to say not very comfortable at all. ah, I just need to _sleep_ dammit! I'm so fucking tired. Ugh.

XxXxX

I awoke with a start, sitting up and gasping for breath. _Oh shit._ Everything is just _oh shit_ right now. I need to take action, minimize damage. I'm fucking my plan up already!

I scrambled to stand up and realized too late that I am a fucking idiot. My head is spinning like you can't believe. _Don't throw up don't throw up don't throw up,_ I silently chanted as my insides rioted. I'm too busy to be hung over right now! Seriously, nobody likes being hung over but damn, did it have to come at such an inconvenient time? Yeah, yeah, I know I'm bitching like it isn't completely my fault. So sue me. But later cos I have shit to do.

I roused Toni, keeping a hand over his mouth to quiet him. He awoke easily, if not a little confused. But then again, that's just his natural state of being, in my opinion. I raised my finger to my lips. _Be quiet. _I removed my hand from his mouth and said quietly, "be quiet, Toni. Ita—uh, Feliciano is here and he cannot know you are here. It's fundamental to our plan that he doesn't know. Ugh. I can't believe I fucked this up already. Why did I let us drink so much? I'm so fucking hung over."

"Really," Toni asked, sitting up and stretching. "I feel fine." He turned to me and smiled dopily. You're telling me this bastard doesn't get hung over? There's no justice in this world. "Why are my pants off?" Toni asked, bemused.

"You took them off yourself before welcoming yourself to my bed," I said.

"Really," he asked.

"Yup," I said, beginning to pull a change of clothes out of my dresser.

"Reeeaaallllyy?" he asked again, slyly.

I stopped what I was doing and turned to him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean," I squawked, a little loudly.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," Toni said airily, looking away. "It's just that I know _I _would have a hard time resisting such an exotic hunk like me."

"Piss off," I hissed. Slamming the dresser drawer shut. "And wait here. I have some damage control to do."

First I slipped into the bathroom to change my clothes. I was glad that I didn't see Italy because he would find it curious that I changed in the bathroom instead of my bedroom. Italy, of course, was in the kitchen. I swear he spends the majority of his time there.

"Oh, good morning, Gilbert," he said, looking up from his crossword puzzle. "You're up awful early. When did you even get home last night?"

"What time is West coming for you," I blurted.

"Huh. I think he said about noon. Is that ok," Italy asked, concerned.

"NO! Uh, I mean, I have a surprise for you today."

"A surprise? What is it?" Feliciano was visibly exited.

"Uh, lemme call West and get permission to keep you a little longer, ok?"

Italy dialed West's cell phone number and I took the call in the bathroom, telling Italy that it had to remain a surprise. "Hey, uh, West? I know I was bitching at you to come and pick up Feliciano as soon as you got into town but I wanted to, uh, thank him for all the awesome cooking and cleaning he did for me. So I was gonna take him out for a nice lunch. I'll drop him at your house afterwards. Is that cool?" 

"Is that cool?" West repeated, surprised. "Why yes, that's fine, Gilbert. That sounds really nice, actually. I'm glad that you appreciated everything Feliciano has been doing for you lately. Sometimes I think that you—"

"Yeah, yeah, that's nice. I have to go. People to do and things to see. Later." I hung up the phone and for good measure removed the battery from the back. Now that West was out of the way I didn't want him butting in again. Since I was in the bathroom anyways I grabbed about five aspirin and downed them with water right out of the tap. _Gott in himmel. _If I can get through today then I'm not going to get out of bed for a week.

XxXxX

Around eleven I began to hustle Italy to get ready. About a half hour later we were ready to head out the door. I ducked back into my bedroom to tell Toni what was going on. Naturally, he was sleeping. Well I'm glad someone around here can get a good fucking rest. "Get up, you Spanish ass!" I hissed, shaking him. "Listen, Feliciano and I are getting ready to go. We're gonna get something to eat and then we'll meet you there in an hour and a half. _Exactly an hour and a half, _got it?"

"Yes, yes. I got it," satisfied, I grabbed my shoes and prepared to leave. "Hey Gil? Don't sweat it. Everything is going to turn out fine, ok?"

"Ok," I said, before closing the door. _Of course it's going to be ok,_ I coached myself. _This awesome plan is Gilbert approved. Now let's rock this shit. _

XxXxX

Of course we went to an Italian place. I went along with my original story and told Italy that I was taking him out to eat as a thank you present for all the laundry, cooking, and cleaning that he did for me. He was elated. "Ooh~ How thoughtful!" he cooed before telling me where his favorite Italian joint was.

I tried to be as relaxed as possible while we ate. Why was I so nervous for this? Honestly, I wasn't nervous at all when I confronted Roderich, Ivan, Natalia, or _anyone._ Could—could it be that I actually _care_ how this plays out? Could it be that I've grown sort of attached to Italy and would really like to see him happy?

Whatever. Who cares? _I'm allowed to have feelings too ya know!_

Ah, yes. But this was going to involve a significant amount of tricking Italy. I'm not sure how forgiving he is going to be about that. And then there's Romano. He's going to be even less forgiving. But then, I'm counting on having Antonio and Feliciano on my side to talk Romano into forgiving me. And hellsfire upon me if West ever finds out what I'm about to do.

Italy was chattering about the merits of biscotti so I just made polite noises while I twirled the noodles on my plate. Damned Italian food is so carby. I always feel so sleepy after I eat it. Which reminds me that the universe is on a conspiracy to cock block me from getting a good night's rest as of late.

_I live such a hard life, _I thought tiredly as I took a sip of wine.

XxXxX

We were just pulling out of the parking lot when I snapped my fingers. "Oh, darn. I just remembered that I have some errands to run. You don't mind if we do those before going to your place, do you?" 

"No~It's ok Gilbert. I like to run errands." Of course. Of course he does. He's just fucking domestic like that.

"What?" Italy said, confused. "You have to run an errand here?"

"Yes, yes I do," I said, turning the engine off. "You better come in with me. I don't know how long it will take."

We both got out of the car and Italy still looked dubious. That's ok. He can be as dubious as he wants as long as he walks through the door. I pulled open the heavy door of _McGinty's _and held it open for Italy. "We're going to the party room in the back. There's something I have to pick up." I had worked out a deal with McGinty last night. Paid cash money to get him to open this early. Since it wasn't regular bar hours I knew no one would think to come by and disturb us. We walked past all of the empty tables. McGinty wasn't even behind the bar. I could hear a television coming down the staircase behind the bar. It led up to the apartment above the bar where McGinty lived. He must not have figured us worth the trouble to come down. Maybe he didn't want mixed in with a "lot of queers," as he had kindly put it last night.

The "party room," as McGinty called it, wasn't very festive, but it was private. Just what I wanted. The room itself wasn't very large, probably only a quarter of the size of the bar. There was a beat up old table with six chairs around it and a couple of shitty paintings on the wall. Based on the status of the frayed decorations and furniture, this must be a glorified store room for all of McGinty's old shit that he wasn't quite ready to part with. Ah, well. It would do.

"Go ahead and have a seat," I said, pulling out a chair on the far side of the table. "We have to wait for my friend to get here then we can get on our way." I checked my watch as Italy sat down. Any minute now, really. I went to stand by the door.

Finally, I could faintly hear someone talking on the other side of the door. "Are we there yet, idiot? I can't see a damned thing." Toni murmured a reply and the door handle turned. Italy, who had been examining his nails with great interest, looked up casually. His face froze a moment before falling heavily as he saw Romano walk through the door, blindfolded and being led by Toni. "If this is a fucking surprise party I'm going to disembowel you, Antonio," Romano threatened. I took this moment to pounce towards the door, shutting it and locking it with a key.

I was locked in a room with Toni, Romano, and Feliciano. Things were about to get hairy.

XxXxX

Growing too impatient with the blindfold, Romano simply ripped it off. He turned to give Antonio a full glare before focusing his attention on his whereabouts. Italy said nothing, frozen as he was, hand still hovering about the table. It certainly didn't take Romano long to notice his brother sitting behind the table. He gave an unmanly squawk. "Fucking shit dammit! Wh-wh-what's going on here?" Romano said, directing his rage towards Toni. Poor, poor Toni.

"Hey," I said, drawing Romano's attention from Toni. Saving his life, in a way. "You and your brother have some things to work out and both of you are too proud to do it. This is the only way I could figure to get you two together."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Romano fumed. His fists were clenched and his face was a very unsavory shade of red. It was actually rather alarming. "I'm getting the fuck out of here," he announced, trying the doorknob. Of course it didn't work. "Gilbert, if you want to keep your ballsack in between your legs you will unlock this door now!"

"No," I said firmly, unconsciously crossing my legs in front of me to deflect any sudden balls-based carnage that may or may not be inflicted upon me.

"There's no way I'm saying one word to th-that that _malandrino._ That little faggot is dead to me."

"Hey!" Italy said, reacting at last. He stood up and planted his palms on the table. "I won't sit here and listen to you say such mean things about me like I'm not even here."

"_Va' a farti la sega! _I'll say anything I like. I'm just surprised you're even here. I didn't know that you could go twenty minutes without taking a dick up the ass."

Toni reacted to Romano's hurtful words, flinching at their vile. Hell, even I cringed a little. Italy doesn't deserve any of this. I knew better than to step in. This was between them now. It wasn't any of my business.

"F-f-f-f-_fuck you!_" Italy finally hurled. You could tell it pained him to say it, unused as he was to cursing. Even Romano seemed taking aback. "Why are you so hateful, Romano? All you ever do is yell and stomp around. Don't hate me because I'm finally happy."

"Oh, ho. Hate you because you're happy? Whatever. If that's what you tell yourself then fine. I h-hate you because you're, you're a dumb little prick who dares go against the family. I'm the head of the family and you've never respected that. _Never!_ After _Papa Roma_ died you just acted like you were free to do whatever you choose. Well, you're not! I'm your big brother and I'm eldest. What I say goes."

"And what have you ever told me to do? Nothing for the family. You think I'm too dumb," Italy cried. "You never let me handle anything!"

"That's right," Romano snapped. "You hit the nail on the head, Feliciano. I think you're dumb as fucking rocks. Dumber even! You went and proved me right, too, when you ran off with that state boy."

"Don't you DARE bring Ludwig into this," Feliciano said, pointing a finger in Romano's face. Feliciano was getting genuinely pissed now. I've never seen anything like it.

"Oh, I dare alright," Romano shot back, tauntingly. "I'll say whatever I want about your _figlio di putana _boyfriend. That _cafone _thinks that I will ever forgive him for corrupting my brother?"

"Stop it Romano. Just stop! Why can't you accept me for who I am?" Italy said, finally breaking down.

"Break up with Ludwig Beilschmidt and I'll forgive you. Come home, Feliciano. You don't belong with that _frocio."_

"_Col cazzo," _Italy snapped, back to being angry. "You can't ask me to choose between my love and my family. At least Ludwig doesn't treat me like crap! He listens to me and pays attention to me and doesn't treat me like I'm dumb!"

At this point Romano just let forth a stream of cursing, all in Italian. Italy just stood there defiantly. I was actually kind of in awe of him standing there, that hard look in his eye. Antonio refused to be still any longer. He shook off my attempts to hold him back and reached forward to grasp Romano roughly on the forearm. "That's enough, Romano," he said gruffly. What the hell? There's genuine _authority_ in Toni's voice. What is going on here?

"Get the hell off of me," Romano snapped, turning his burning eyes towards Toni. Antonio, dead serious, looked him straight in the eyes without flinching. "Enough," he said, softly. Romano seemed torn, a little unsure of himself. He glanced back to Feliciano then seemed to snap out of it. Drawing himself up as much as he could, Romano pulled free from Antonio's grasp and took a step backwards. "Don't _ever_ touch me like that or speak to me like that ever again, Antonio. Have you lost your fucking mind?"

"Just stop it, Lovi," Toni said, his voice still serious and commanding. I hardly recognize the man. Where did he get this sudden burst of dominancy?

"D-don't call me that!" Romano shouted nervously. Antonio took a step forward, closing the distance between them. He reached over and touched Romano's shoulder softly. Romano responded by slapping Antonio hard. The air seemed to stand still in the aftermath. Feliciano gave a soft gasp. The mark stood clear against Antonio's tanned skin, each of Romano's fingers standing out in perfect clarity.

I wasn't sure what Toni would do but I sure as hell did not expect his response. He grabbed Romano roughly by both shoulders. Romano gave a frightened squawk that was soon muffled as Antonio kissed him roughly. What the hell is going on here?

I expected Romano to fight Toni tooth and nail but instead he seemed to melt in the embrace. Oh. Oh my. I fucking get it now. How did I not see that they were together before? I'm dumbfounded.

Finally, Antonio pulled away from the kiss. Romano was breathing heavily and didn't seem to remember exactly where he was.

"Romano," Feliciano said quietly. "You're with Toni? How could you be so hurtful with me when you were having the same feelings? How could you hide something like this from me?" You could tell he was hurt by his brother's betrayal. And really, I could see his point.

"I-I-I, It's not like that," Romano said, back pedaling.

"Yes, it is," Toni contradicted calmly. "We're in love. You've said so yourself a couple of times, Lovi. We've been together a year and a half. I've made love to you every chance we've had for the last year. It's time to come clean. You're no straighter than the rest of us in this room." Oh, sure, go ahead and lump me in with the gays. "So stop pretending that you're something that you're not. We all love you and accept you for who you are. It's time for you to return the favor."

Romano looked like he would cry for a moment, his eyes becoming watery and his lip trembling dangerously. Feli was already crying by this point. "I forgive you, Romano," he cried, throwing himself forward to embrace his brother. "So please forgive me? We've not been good brothers to each other but it's going to be different from now on, yes?"

"Y-yes," Romano said quietly, returning Feliciano's hug. "I just want us to get along," he finished, dabbing at his eyes. Antonio looked as if he might cry as well. Oh, give me a break. I'm sure as hell not sporting any water works.

And thus, the Vargas brothers were reconciled with much cursing, screaming, and spilling of secrets.

I'm worn the fuck out.

XxXxX

After those three idiots were calmed down I decided to breech the subject. "So, Romano, everything cool now?"

Romano scowled at me, "this isn't' what I wanted and you know it. But since it looks like everything is going to be ok now I'm not going to bother kicking your ass. I have bigger fish to fry. Your check will be in the mail, _briccone_."

"Uh, can I ask a favor?"

"Why, because you did such a fantastic job," Romano snapped, deeply sarcastic.

"Well, yes," I said, blatantly ignoring his jab. "I need a warehouse. One where I can plant something for the police to find."

Romano looked like he was going to say something, something nasty by the look on his face, but then stopped and smiled. It wasn't a joyful smile. "Oh, ok, Gilbert. Sure. I can get you what you need but you'll have to forfeit the money I promised to pay you."

What? Th-that little prick! But what choice did I have? I suppose I was just lucky he was going to do it at all. "Fuck me. Fine. The warehouse instead of the money," I grumbled.

Roderich better fucking appreciate this. I mean _really _appreciate this, if you know what I mean.

XxXxX

"Hey Italy," I said, brightly as we were leaving the parking lot of _McGinty's. _"You're not going to tell West about my part in this, are you?"

"Oh, of course I am," he said breezily. "After all, it was a real asshole thing to do, Gil." What? Did Feliciano just call me an asshole?

Seeing the dumbfounded look on my face Italy nodded and continued. "Yup. And I'm going to tell him about Roderich. Then we'll be even for you tricking me. Tricking me _twice_, might I add." I let one hand leave the steering wheel so I could punch Italy in the shoulder as hard as I could.

"Hey," he squawked indignantly. He began slapping me back and soon we were in a full on slap battle. The car swerved back and forth down the length of the street because I'm not going to lose this fight and who needs two hands to drive anyways?

XxXxX

**[A/N Ahhhhh so. Chapter 11. Agh. I feel like we've come so far! There's probably only going to be one more chapter after this. I'm seriously crying right now! The author's note for that chapter is going to be RIDICULOUS, I'm telling you. **

**TRANSLATIONS: **

**Gott in himmel—goodness gracious**

**Malandrino—fuck-off (adjective) **

**Va' a farti la sega—fuck off (expression) **

**Figli di putana—son of a bitch**

**Cafone—redneck, peasant **

**Frocio—fag **

**Col cazzo—like fuck! (like fuck I will!) **

**Briccone—asshole (rascal)**

**Thanks for reading and please review!]**


	12. Parting is such sweet sorrow

**[A/N Hey, guys. I'm so sorry that I missed a week updating and I haven't replied to your reviews. I'm really sorry. I just had some personal issues that needed my attention and my creative flow had to go on the back burner.]**

I am a lot of things. Not all of them complementary. However, I am not a dumbfuck. That is why when I pulled up to West and Italy's place I flew to the back of the car and pulled all of Italy's bags out at one go. I placed them all on the stoop of their duplex and was flying back to the car by the time Italy was half way up the walk. "Aren't you going to come in and visit?" Feliciano asked, genuinely confused.

"Hell no," I shouted as I ran to the other side of the car. "I'm not stupid. And you're not fooling me with that innocent 'aren't you coming in' act. See ya." With that I ducked into the car and turned the engine on. Pffffft. Look at him standing on the stoop with that puzzled look on his mug. A lesser-thinking man than I would think that Feliciano had forgotten about tattling on me to West. But that blank face won't fool me. Oh no it won't. And it wouldn't fool you either, if you had seen the serious look on his face when he informed me that West will be informed of my recent ongoings.

Believe me, there will be hell to pay on so many levels and I intent to postpone the inevitable as long as humanly possible. Police fucking brutality is what is awaiting in my future.

XxXxX

So I had to talk to that Swiss bastard again. Ah, yes. Even though things began cordially enough between Vash and me the situation had deteriorated rapidly. And I don't see reconciliation between us in the foreseeable future. Ah, fuck him.

Even if he did have some damn good smokes.

But at least I didn't have to see him again. I just called him up. Roderich must have talked to him earlier, though, because Vash seemed to know a good bit about what was going on and what I was planning. After confirming that I was indeed awesome enough to get us a warehouse (even if it did basically cost me 7,000 dollars—fuck you, Romano. Fuck you in the ass. And I don't mean that in a good way. No, I mean it _Fullmetal Jacket _style.) I told Vash what his part in this would be.

He was shady enough to find the people to steal the piano in the first place. In my opinion, he was also shady enough to move the damned thing into the warehouse for us as well. And it's not like I knew where he was keeping the Bösendorfer. I never did find that out. I my opinion it's an unimportant detail. Ah, but I digress. Vash was willing enough to move the piano to the warehouse. He was probably getting a little nervous about keeping the thing around anyways. I cautioned him to leave no fingerprints, trace evidence, or otherwise but he simply gave a haughty sniff and coolly informed me that he knew what needed to be done, thank you very much.

Well fine. Don't say I didn't warn him if the fool leaves one of his fancy pants butts at the scene of the crime. Again.

So that's done. All that's left is for me to call the tip in to the police. For that I'm planning to drive to the other edge of town and using a pay phone. Preferably in one of the shitty neighborhoods on the south edge. I asked Vash if it would give him enough time if I called in the tip tomorrow at three. He merely scoffed and said I underestimated him. Dang, why does he have to be such a prick? We were getting along so nicely at first too. I'm pretty sure he's just one of those guys who gets ticked when someone gets the better of him. Which, you gotta admit, I did get that fucker good.

That's me, ya know. Making friends wherever I go. Huh. Come to think of it, both of Roderich's best friends hate me. That, uh, well that might not be good for me. Hopefully my delightful, sparkling personality and razor sharp wit will make up for the general disapproval of the Gilbert Hate Club. Well, I can dream, can't I?

XxXxX

The phone in tip? That was easy. It all went like I thought it would. I drove to the other side of town and used a pay phone in front of a seedy looking gas station. I told the dispatcher that I'd heard an interesting tidbit about a stolen Bösendorfer being held in a rickety old warehouse near the old steel mill. There hasn't been a company in there for twenty years so it was perfect.

Of course, the prick running dispatch down at the station insisted that I give my name and contact information. I told him to go fuck himself and hung up the phone. I know how this shit works. The police think they can intimidate you into giving them your name. That way if the tip turns out sour or they need more info they know right where to find you. But you don't have to give them your name. That's why it's called an _anonymous _tip.

After that I drove home. I could use a nap. Really, I could. There's been so much stress in my life lately. I just need a little me time.

Does it surprise you at all, then, that when I got home West was sitting in my living room waiting for me? No? It doesn't? Well it doesn't surprise me either. Anything to fuck with me. Anything to fuck with me.

Belatedly, I recalled giving West a key to my place when I first moved in. That was back before he was with Feliciano and he used to swing by all the time and bring beer. I considered running for a moment but wearily discarded the idea. West keeps himself in shape and I don't. He'd definitely catch me and I don't want to make him angrier than I already have.

West didn't say anything. At all. I took a seat on the couch opposite to him. He continued to stare me down a moment. Pffffft. Trying to intimidate me. What he doesn't realize is that I'm immune to his aura of general disapproval. West's mad at me. Big deal. Happens all the time.

"Gilbert, I'm trying very hard right now to not kick your ass." Well that's… direct. "So I suggest you keep your mouth shut and listen.

"I know you're irresponsible. I know you're selfish. I know you're smart as a whip but refuse to apply yourself to any honest profession. I know all of this. And since I know all of this I shouldn't be surprised by your behavior. But there's just one thing I always forget to take into account. The 'Gilbert factor.' That little extra push of bad decision making that turns a questionable situation into a total disaster." Up until this point West had been speaking in a normal tone of voice. He began yelling now. "I can't leave you alone for _one weekend _without you making a muck of things." I opened my mouth to retort but West barreled on.

"_Unfortunately, _Feliciano has forbidden me from beating the piss out of you. I debated it on the car ride over. I debated it as I walked up the stairs to your apartment. I debated as I sat here waiting for you to come home. And I reached a decision. Would you like to hear what it is, Gilbert?" West asked rhetorically.

"I've decided that I'll give you a pass. This time. Only because you _somehow _managed to put a golden lining into this situation. Do something like this again, though, I'll rip your balls off and stuff them down your throat." That's a little uncalled for, don't you think? But who cares. West is going all softie on me. Aw, he can't stay mad at his big brother that long. Can't say I blame him. I'm just that good.

"_However,_" West continued severely, "this doesn't mean you won't be punished. When I walked in I just happened to see a very nice crate of German beer. It now belongs to me."

"_What!" _I exclaimed, literally jumping up. Oh, no. You _do not_ mess with my booze. I'll fistfight him. I'll lay down an old school ass whooping. Like hell will he take my beer.

"Calm down," West said, unconcerned by my anger. "You messed up and you know it. Now take your punishment like a good boy."

"Fuck you. Who the hell do you think you are?" I'm not letting this drop.

"Gilbert," West said, sitting forward and glaring up at me. "You made Feliciano cry. Repeatedly. You caused him undue mental stress. I can't just let you get away with that. If you can't get it through your thick skull that I won't allow you to terrorize the love of my life then you're a horrible, self centered person."

"Fine, whatever," I said, sitting back down and pretending like I actually wasn't ashamed of myself when he puts it like that. "Take my beer. See if I care. And while you're at it how about getting the fuck out of my apartment."

West only snorted at my threat. How typical. He doesn't take me seriously. "Don't be like that, Gil. You're acting like a baby. Now, the second thing I wanted to talk to you about; what's this I hear about you, um, batting for the other team, shall we say?"

"None of your damned business," I snapped. Unfortunately, I could feel my cheeks getting warm. There's just something about West knowing that upsets me. And I mean for fuck's sake, the only people who this concerns is me and Roderich. Why the hell is everyone so concerned about where I'm putting my dick these days?

"Feliciano tells me you have a boyfriend. Is this true, Gilbert?"

"Fuck you," I replied.

"Gilbert, I don't know why you're getting so upset about this. I'm only curious. I just didn't know you were, uh, into that kind of thing. Come on, if you're too ashamed to tell your own brother then that's not fair to this fellow you're testing the waters with."

"I'm not 'testing the waters,'" I said, genuinely pissed. "You never take me fucking serious, Ludwig." In case you're wondering I only say West's real name when I'm genuinely upset with him. It doesn't happen very often. "But then again, why would you? I fuck up everything, isn't that right? So therefore I must be just playing with Roderich's feelings, huh? I'm not capable of having feelings for someone or being in a stable relationship. Obviously I must be satisfying my sick curiosity. Is that it, Ludwig? You can get out, now. I think you've said enough." And I was dead serious.

"Come on, Gil," West said, sounding sorry. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry. I should have thought more carefully about what I was saying. It was just such a sudden development. You've never shown any interest in men before."

"Well, you have to start some time," I snapped. "Don't know what to tell you. And in case you didn't realize, I'm not obligated to report to you. I could be into fucking sheep and that still isn't your problem."

"Fine, fine," West said, holding his hands out at me. "Well, in any case, Feliciano and I would like to meet your fellow sometime soon. Please? It would mean a lot to us."

"Ok," I relented. "Sometime soon. I'll have to talk to Roderich, of course."

"Ok, great," West said with a smile. "I think I'll get going now, before I say something else to upset you."

"Yeah, bye," I said, bored. Finally he's leaving. What West doesn't know is that I put a good deal of that beer in my fridge. Not all hope is lost, even if he does take what's left in the crate.

"Oh, by the way," West said as he opened the door. "I took the beer you had chilling in the fridge as well." That bastard! "I'm disappointed in you, Gilbert. What good German man puts beer in the fridge? That's kind of a pussy move." And he was gone out the door.

Did my little brother just steal all of my beer _and _call me a pussy? Damn.

XxXxX

_Ring…. Ring…. Ring…_

"Hello?"

"_Gilbert!" _Roderich shouted over the phone.

"Ye-es?" I asked, confused.

"The police just called me. They say they found my piano! They're still processing the crime scene but they are expecting to release it to me in about three weeks." Roderich laughed with relief. "It worked. It really worked!"

"Of course it did," I said breezily. "And you doubted me?"

Roderich just laughed again. I could hear how relieved he was. What a weight this must be off of his shoulders. "Can I come over," he asked suddenly. "I want to see you."

"Sure," I said, my chest doing a funny little flutter inside of me. I think it still surprises me that this guy wants to see me.

"Ok, I'm leaving right now. See you soon."

XxXxX

Somehow, it seemed fitting to sit at my desk and wait for Roderich. So here I am. Back where I started, in a way.

Instead of napping behind my desk like a deadbeat, though, I was looking over some papers on my newest case. Whenever I got my mail this morning there was a manila envelope, unmarked by postage, stuck in with my usual fair of bills and catalogues. When I opened it up I saw it was from Romano.

Inside the envelope there was a letter that explained what he wants me to do. I'm supposed to trail some friend of Romano's wife. I'm to see if she's cheating on her husband. There was a photo of a slim, dark haired lady and an address. Half of the fee was in the envelope; the second half would be given at the conclusion of the case. I guess it's started, then. I'm on the Vargas pay roll.

I threw the papers down as I heard someone knocking on the door. "Come in," I shouted. I found it funny that he knocked. Roderich didn't have any problem waltzing into my place the first time.

"Look at you, behind your desk working hard," he joked as he crossed the living room.

"Well, I'm such an ace detective, you know. I've just got cases falling into my lap," I said in a jokingly haughty tone.

"I know," Roderich said, smiling. That gave me a pause. I expected him to scoff at my bravado.

I stood up and walked a few steps to meet him. I paused a step away from Roderich, not sure what I should do. We weren't into that phase of a relationship where I could just kiss him offhandedly.

"Really, though. I can't say it enough," Roderich said softly, "thank you. I deserved to fall hard for my mistakes and somehow I skimmed by. I couldn't have done it without you." And then he hugged me. It was kinda cute, actually. When we pulled away I felt confident enough to sneak in a quick peck on the lips.

XxXxX

We ended up settling into the couch and watching television. I'll admit, we did fight a little (a lot) over what we were going to watch but eventually we compromised. And when I say 'compromise' I mean that Roderich just got his way. I'm such a damned push over, aren't I? He picked the news. I mean, come on. Is there anything more boring and depressing than the news?

Haughtily pleased that he got his way, Roderich curled up next to me. Humph. Probably trying to appease me after grossly getting his way. Well, it's kinda working.

Roderich was leaning against me, his head on my shoulder. I took this moment to wrap my arms around him and get comfortable. Oh yes. How long is the news? An hour? Fair enough, I suppose.

"Hey," I murmured once a commercial break started. "My brother wants to meet you. Are you ok with that?"

"Really," Roderich asked looking up to my face. The dancing lights from the television were reflecting off of his glasses, obscuring his eyes. "He wants to meet me? I'm flattered. Actually, I'm just kind of flattered that you told your family about me."

"Well, my brother is all I have left," I explained. "And…." And I almost just said 'I didn't tell him about you so much as he just found out.' At least I stopped myself in time. That would have been a horrible thing to say. Disaster avoided. "And he really wants to meet you," I finished lamely.

Roderich was looking at me confused, as if he were trying to remember something correctly. "Wait," he said. "Don't you have a sister too," he asked.

"No," I said, confused at where he could have gotten that notion.

"Then who was that guy who yelled in the background the other day? Remember, it was when I was mad at you for inviting that woman on our date. You said he was your brother-in-law," Roderich said in a no-nonsense, you have some 'splainin to do voice.

"Listen," I blurted. "That was my brother's boyfriend. I just didn't know how to explain something like that over the phone. I went the easy route and said he's my brother-in-law. He might as well be!"

"Your brother's gay too," Roderich asked, shocked.

"Yeah," I said.

"Oh. Ok," said Roderich. "Well, I can't wait to meet him. _And _his boyfriend," Roderich clarified meaningfully. Hey, buddy. Can do.

Roderich settled back into my side again as the news came back on. We were hardly half way through the news and I couldn't take another minute of it. The remote is setting right by my hand. The temptation is too great. Must…. Resist…. Resistance… is… futile!

I flipped the channel to something more interesting. "Hey," Roderich said indignantly, setting up and pulling away from me. "I was watching that"

"I'm not sure how," I said. "I had to flip the channel before my pulse stopped out of sheer lack of motivation to live through another moment of that."

"You are so over dramatic. I want to watch the rest of the news."

"I have the remote. I get to choose."

"Then give me the remote." Roderich deftly plucked it from my hands, despite the fact that I was trying to hold it out of his reach. "You're such an instigator," Roderich said disapprovingly as he switched the channel back to the news. When he was sure the remote was safely tucked out of my reach he turned to me with his triumphant, Cheshire cat smile before snuggling back into my side.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't grinning ear to ear myself. Oh, yes. I have a feeling that we're going to be one of those couples that fight often and love every minute of it.

XxXxX

End

XxXxX

**[A/N The end? Really? : / Sad face. I can't even begin to write down how this makes me feel. This was my first fanfic, you know. And it's currently my longest. I just want to say that I loved every minute of writing it and I love all you guys who read Gilbert Beilschmidt, Private eye. Seriously, you guys are great. You've been so supportive and wonderful. Some of you have even been invaluably helpful with pointing out errors and helping me with translations. I want to thank every one of you for reviewing and reading. :3 :3 Seriously, your reviews light up my day when they flood my inbox 3**

**Are you in despair yet? Is the thought of living in a world without Detective Beilschmidt too lachrymose? I feel your pain. So that's why I'm pleased to announce that I will be writing a sequel to this story. How could I not? **

**Don't get too excited yet, though. I won't be starting the sequel for several months. I would like to take a break and write some other things I have rolling about my head first. But rest assured I will be back at it, sooner rather than later. For now, I've posted a small blurb for the next adventure. This blurb will be telling you what the story will be about and will serve as an anchor so that you guys who wish to read more Detective Beilschmidt can go ahead and add a story alert so you don't have to keep checking back to my page to see when my lazy ass actually gets back to writing. It's called Gilbert Beilschmidt, Ace Detective. Title is super lame and subject to change XD XD Please go check it out!]**


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